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\ 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 








UNDER THE 
YANKEE ENSIGN 


BY 

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR ✓ 

AUTHOR OP "FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS,” "tHB HALF 
BACK,” "THE SPIRIT OF THB SCHOOL,” BTC. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 


1919 



Copyright, 1919, by 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


/ 


Printed in the United States of America 





CONTENTS 


PART I. ACROSS WITH THE FLAG 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Dave Makes an Enemy and Finds a Friend . 3 

II. Submarine Chaser No. 944 *3 

III. Lost Overboard 24 

IV. The Mutiny 34 

V. “Surrender!” 44 

VI. Pete to the Rescue 53 

VII. Prisoners on the Submarine 63 

VIII. Under the Sea 76 

IX. The Escape 91 

X. Dave Falls Asleep 104 

PART II. SWEEPING THE SEAS 

I. On Patrol n 9 

II. The New “Gob” *3° 

III. “Clear for Action!” I 43 

IV. The Hdn Shows His Teeth 1 54 

V. Convoy Duty *^5 

VI. Floating Peril 

VII. On the Mine Sweeper l %7 

VIII. Pete Meets an Old Friend *99 

IX. The Admiral Makes Good 215 


CONTENTS 


PART III. STAND BY! 

CHAPTER PAG* 

I. Destroyer “Gobs” 227 

II. A Chase Into the Fog 242 

III. The Flag Comes Down 253 

IV. Heroes in Port 262 

V. “Submarine!” 272 

VI. The Mutiny 283 

VII. The Start of an Adventure 293 

VIII. The Air Raiders 309 

IX. Prisoners of War 318 

X. “StandBy!” 328 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 

PAGE 


Roaring, firing, cheering, the Conklin blazed her way 

by Frontispiece 


Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach ... 64 

“ Got her ! ” Kennedy shouted triumphantly. . . 156 

The oars dipped and the boat headed for the sub- 
marine • i.. ,.j 1. . . 280 



\ 




PART I 


ACROSS WITH THE FLAG 



UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


CHAPTER I 

DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY AND FINDS A FRIEND 

“ Hello, sonny ; who let you on board ? ” 

The tall, stoop-shouldered sailor with the thin 
face grinned malignantly. His right sleeve bore a 
seaman gunner’s mark and a single enlistment stripe 
adorned the other. He was a dark-visaged man of 
nearly thirty, with deeply-set and crafty eyes under 
thick, scraggly brows. The boy who, at the chal- 
lenge, had paused at the foot of the fo’c’sle com- 
panion, decided then and there that he didn’t like the 
man, but he replied quietly and amiably: 

“ The quartermaster. Do you know which of 
these bunks are empty ? ” 

“ Why, say, you ain’t thinkin’ of bunkin’ for’ard i 
Cabin boys always live aft, sonny.’ , 

“If you mean me, I happen to be a seaman.” 
David Garson moved across the narrow fo’c’sle and 


3 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


laid his canvas bag on a bunk that showed no 
evidence of occupancy. He was seventeen, but 
scarcely looked it, for he was not over tall for that 
age, and had a very boyish face. But his lack of 
stature appeared to be atoned for by a compact, 
well-proportioned body, and there was capability 
and self-reliance behind the youthfulness of his 
countenance. He was a nice-looking chap, although 
you wouldn’t have called him handsome, with brown 
hair and eyes, and a well-tanned skin showing above 
the low neck of his navy shirt. 

“ A what ! ” exclaimed the other, assuming deep 
incredulity. “ My, ain’t it awful what war does? 
Snatches the babes right out o’ their cradles, don’t 
it? Where’d you leave your nurse, sonny?” 

“ Where you left your manners,” was the quiet 
reply. 

“ Is that so ? ” sneered the sailor. “ Smart, ain’t 
you? Sort o’ precocious, eh? Bet your ma felt 
terrible about losin’ you. Bet you was the sun- 
shine of the old home, wasn’t you? ” 

“ What have you got against me? ” asked Dave, 
puzzled. 

“ Not a thing! Not a thing! Only you’re too 
fresh, see ? And I’m tipping you off that you want 
4 


DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY 

to talk civil, or something painful might happen to 
you.” 

“ I see,” responded the boy, dryly. “ Some one 
might mistake me for you.” 

“Aw, cut it!” growled the other. “For two 
cents I’d hand you a wallop, you smart Alick! 
‘ Seaman,’ says you ! I’ve swabbed deck with fellers 
twice your size, and I’ll do it again if you give me 
any of your lip ! ” 

“ Why don’t you let me alone if you don’t like 
my ways ? ” asked Dave. “ I didn’t start anything.” 

“You’d better not try to.” The gunner, who 
had followed across the fo’c’sle, stretched forth a 
big hand and gave the boy’s head an ungentle push 
that, while it did not hurt, sent the blood pouring 
into the tanned cheeks. Dave sprang from the edge 
of the bunk with blazing eyes. 

“ Keep your dirty hands off me ! ” he said in a 
voice that trembled in spite of his efforts to keep it 
steady. “ I haven’t bothered you, and you’ve no 
call to bully me. Now let up ! ” 

“ Is that so? ” asked the other, thrusting a grin- 
ning face closer. “ Suppose I don’t ? What would 
you do, you cute little thing? For two cents — ” 

5 


tUNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

“ Lay off the kid, Chuck ! ” interrupted a per- 
emptory voice. 

Unheard by them, a short, squarely-built, tow- 
headed youth of about nineteen had descended the 
companion. He had a round, freckled face, pale 
blue eyes, a short, button-like nose, and square jaws 
that were just now rhythmically busy with a piece of 
gum. He came across the fo’c’sle with a sort of 
cocky swing of his broad shoulders and a wide smile. 
But the smile didn’t deceive either Dave or his tor- 
mentor. “ Some day, Chuck,” went on the new- 
comer, “ you’ll make a mistake an’ light on a guy 
that’s ’most half your size.” 

“ What’s it to you, Rooney ? ” demanded the gun- 
ner. “ You mind your own business, or I’ll hand 
you something, too ! ” 

“ You an’ who else? ” inquired the other. “ Say, 
Chuck, you ain’t got enough up your sleeve to make 
a motion. The only thing you ever licked was a 
stamp, and that didn’t stick. Go on 1 Fade away ! 
Beat it!” 

“ Maybe you can make me ! ” growled the gun- 
ner. But he was already making a slow retreat. 
“ This baby-face got fresh with me, and I was tell- 
ing him something for his own good. If he don’t 
6 


DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY 

look out he’s going to run into something hard, see ? 
And that goes double for you, Rooney ! ” 

“ Yeah, I know,” replied Rooney, sarcastically. 
“ I been hear in’ that dope for a week. You’re just 
bluff, Chuck. You ain’t got nothin’ but talk.” 

“ I got enough to put you to sleep, you Bowery 
tough ! ” 

“Tough’s the word, matey! Tough enough for 
you any old day.” 

“Is that so?” The gunner edged with exag- 
gerated nonchalance to the foot of the companion. 
“I’ll get you, just the same, believe me!” 

“ Sure you will— -if my back’s turned,” was the 
untroubled reply. “ But it ain’t goin’ to be turned, 
Chuck.” 

“You think you’re smart, don’t you? I’ll fix 
you some time.’' He climbed the companion, still 
muttering, and disappeared through the fo’c’sle 
hatch. The tow-haired one turned to Dave, chuck- 
ling. 

“ Ain’t he amusin’ ? ” he asked. “ What was he 
ridin’ you for ? ” 

“ I don’t know. He started it. Much obliged 
for — for— ” 

“ Buttin’ in ? ” laughed Rooney. “ That’s all 

7 


.UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

right, kid. Me an’ Chuck’s been yappin’ at each 
other ever since this boat left Norfolk. But nothin’ 
ain’t happened yet. Some time I’ll paste him one 
just to end the — the expense.” 

“ Suspense ? ” laughed Dave. 

“ That’s it.” The tow-headed youth grinned. 
Then : “ Say, what’s your name ? ” he asked. 

“ Garson,” answered Dave. 

“Mine’s Rooney; first name, Pete. I’m 
French.” He winked broadly. “ What’s your 
other monicker ? ” 

“Other — oh, David; Dave for short.” 

“ Sure ! Like the feller in the Bible. An’ Chuck 
Morgan was playin’ Goliar, or whatever his name 
was. You come from down south, don’t you? ” 

“ Maryland.” 

“ Yeah, I know. That’s the place they sing a 
song about. I knew you was from somewhere 
down yonder, because you talk different. How 
long you been in ? ” 

“ A little over three months. I left the Newport 
station a week ago Tuesday. I got up here this 
morning. Do you know if I can take this bunk ? ” 

“ Sure. Take any you like. If any guy kicks, 
send him to me. What watch you in ? ” 

8 


DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY 


“ Port,” replied the other. “ Are you? 

“ Yeah. Stow your duffel and let’s get out o* 
here.” 

“ I suppose you’ve been in the navy a good while,” 
said Dave. 

“Me? I joined a year an’ a half ago. ’Bout 
the time the Huns sunk the Sussex. That got my 
goat, an’ I figured we’d be goin’ into it pretty quick 
after that.” 

“Have you been across yet?” 

“ No ; this is my first sea duty, same as you. An’ 
say, kid, it’s goin’ to be some voyage, take it from 
Pete!” 

“Is it? Why?” 

“ Why ? ’Cause we’re goin’ over, that’s why ! ” 

“Over! You mean this boat’s going to 
France? ” 

“ Yeah, France or Paris or some place like that. 
They ain’t tellin’ it, but we know. We seen ’em 
load supplies, kid.” 

“Why, that’s fine, isn’t it?” exclaimed Dave, 
eagerly. “But — but isn’t she awfully small to 
make the trip alone ? ” 

“ She won’t be alone. But she is small, all right, 
an’ that’s why I’m tellin’ you it’ll be some trip. 
9 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Take it from Pete, kid, food ain’t goin' to be of 
no interest to a lot of us guys for a long time ! ” 

“You mean we'll be seasick?” said the other 
thoughtfully. “ I suppose I shall. I’ve never been 
to sea much. I’ve sailed a boat all my life — ” 

“ All that time ! ” marveled Pete, his blue eyes 
^twinkle. 

Dave laughed. “ Well, for five or six years, 
then, I reckon. But I’ve never been very far from 
land.” 

“ Nor me. An’ I’m tellin’ you straight that I 
ain’t cheerin’ much for it, either. Sometimes I wish 
I was back on my old job. It had it’s ups and 
downs, but it was pretty steady at that.” 

“ What did you do? ” Dave inquired. 

“ Run an elevator,” chuckled Pete. “ Down to 
the Endicott Building, on Broad street, in little old 
New York. That’s my home, New York. I was 
born there, an’ wasn’t never out of it till I signed up 
with Uncle Sam. Chuck Morgan called me a Bow- 
ery tough, an’ that’s what I am, I guess. Anyway, I 
was till one day a guy in a silk hat tried to get him- 
self run over by a truck, an’ I snatched him out of 
it. He slipped me a ten, an’ asked did I want a 
job. I didn’t — much — but I didn’t want to hurt 
io 


DAVE MAKES AN ENEMY 

his feelin’s, an’ so I told him yes. An’ first thing 
I knew I was workin’ steady liftin’ an elevator up 
with a rope. But it wasn’t much of a life for a 
husky guy like me. So when the war came along 
I ducked.” 

“And do you like being in the navy?” asked 
Dave. 

“Sure! It’s a great life. There ain’t nothin’ 
to do but work. Trouble is, though, there ain’t been 
no scrappin’. I been scrappin’ all my life, and I 
sort o’ miss it. But I guess it’s cornin’, all right, 
now. Those Germans ain’t been doin’ a thing but 
askin’ for a wallop ! ” 

“ And they’re going to get it,” said Dave, grimly. 

“ There’s the truth, take it from Pete ! Now, 
what’s your story ? ” 

“ I reckon I haven’t any,” replied Dave, smiling. 
“ I’m here because I’ve always wanted to be in the 
navy, and because — well, a fellow feels as if he 
had to do something after the way the Germans 
have been going on. Of course, I couldn’t get in 
until I was seventeen, and I had hard work getting 
my mother to consent. There isn’t any one but 
me at home now, you see. Dad’s been dead some 
time, and my sister’s married and living in Cali- 


II 


.UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

fomia. But after mother saw how much I wanted 
to get into this she came around. The day I was 
seventeen I went up to Baltimore and enlisted. 
They sent me to Newport, and I was there three 
months. Then I went home on liberty for a week, 
and now here I am.” 

“ Guess it’ll be sort o’ lonely for your ma, won’t 
it? ” reflected Pete. “ Say, if I had a ma I wouldn’t 
be leavin’ her to go to no war, take it from Pete.” 

“ Oh, yes, I reckon you would. You’d go into 
this one, just as I did. It will be lonely for mother, 
I know — but I just- had to do it! She was per- 
fectly fine about it when she realized how I felt. 
Mothers are kind of wonderful folks, aren’t they? ” 

“ I guess so.” Pete scowled. “ I never had 
any. Not that I knows of. Oh, well, that’s all 
right, too. There ain’t no one to worry about me 
if I get my fool head blown off. Guess you an’ 
me’d better go topside. This tub’s due to pull out 
pretty soon, I’m thinkin’.” 


CHAPTER II 


SUBMARINE CHASER p^ 

A few months before, the craft on which Dave 
now found himself had been the pride of a wealthy 
New York man, and had seldom performed a more 
hazardous exploit than to bear its owner up and 
down the Hudson River between a palatial home 
and the city. To-day, shorn of gilt and draperies, 
made over, above deck and below, to fit her for her 
new requirements, it is doubtful if her former owner 
would have recognized her had he seen her lying 
beside a stone dock in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. 
The immaculate white of her hull had disappeared 
under coats of lead-gray, and the same dull hue 
covered all superstructure, masts, small boats, and 
standing gear. Even the canvas jackets that cov- 
ered the bow and stern guns and the lookout cage on 
the foremast were gray. A deck-house had been 
erected abaft the mainmast, while atop the wheel- 
house a bridge now stretched from side to side, a 
13 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


thing of pipe-iron and canvas. If one looked care- 
fully over the bow one could just make out under 
the new paint the yacht’s former name, Meteor; but 
further back, in big black letters and numerals, was 
the legend: S C 944. 

The 944 was a hundred and twenty-two feet over 
all, and had a beam and a draught that, while con- 
ducive to speed, had not been figured with deep sea 
voyaging in mind. Her twin oil-burning engines 
could send her along at a twenty-mile clip. She car- 
ried a complement of two commissioned officers and 
twenty-six enlisted men, most of whom, from cap- 
tain down to mess attendant, were well under thirty. 
In fact, Lieutenant Cowan was but twenty-five, and 
the 944 was his first command; and his junior and 
executive officer, Ensign Hyatt, was still younger by 
two years. Even the engineering head, a non- 
commissioned officer holding the rating of chief ma- 
chinist’s mate, was well on the under side of thirty. 
So, it will be seen, on the 944 enthusiasm took the 
place of hard experience. 

But of enthusiasm there was plenty, as Dave 
discovered that first evening aboard. By that time 
they were somewhere in. the broad waters of the 
Sound, while behind them trailed three other chas- 

1 

14 


SUBMARINE CHASER 944 

ers. The sweltering heat of the August day had 
given way to the fresh coolness of night, and a little 
southeast breeze, straight from the twinkling lights 
of the distant shore, played a soft tune in the aerial 
that stretched between the short masts. Dave had 
eaten his first “ chow ” on board — had, in a fash- 
ion, learned the ropes — and was now on speaking 
terms with most of the crew. They were, he 
thought, a nice lot, and he was already looking on 
the P44 as the Pride of the Navy, and congratulating 
himself on not having been relegated to the Pennsyl- 
vania or Arizona ! And perhaps he had some ex- 
cuse for self-gratulation, for on a boat of the 
chaser size officers and men are thrown nearer to- 
gether than on the big ships, and while there is 
never any letting down of the bars separating ward 
room from fo’c’sle, the conditions of living make for 
a closer intimacy and a greater esprit de corps. 
Dave’s watch was below that evening, and he swung 
his legs from his bunk in the little fo’c’sle and lis- 
tened to the chatter of the others, the swish of water 
along the side, and the steady hum of the engines. 
The port watch were bewailing the fate that had 
kept them on the wrong side of the “ pond ” until 
“ Dutchy,” who was a big two-fisted Dane, 
15 


now. 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


with a long body and short stumps of legs, lugub- 
riously predicted in his slow and careful manner, 
that the war would be all over before they got 
across. Followed much speculating as to their des- 
tination. Mallory, second class radio man, held for 
Dover. Kennedy, gun pointer, said Bordeaux, hav- 
ing already made one trip to that port on an armed 
cargo boat. Pete Rooney favored Queenstown, 
principally, perhaps, because he had a hankering to 
set foot on the sod of his forebears. Todd, mas- 
ter-at-arms, third class, and British in everything 
save birth, would have it Plymouth. And some one 
else suggested Nantes. Dave was about the only 
one there who had no theory on the subject. He 
didn’t much care where they dropped anchor so 
long as it was u over there.” Every one seemed 
agreed on one thing, at all events, which was that 
it needed only their presence in French or British 
waters to bring the submarine menace to a speedy 
end, and Dave found himself confronted by a men- 
tal vision of Admiral Sims standing on the tip end 
of Ireland, shading his eyes and searching the hor- 
izon impatiently for sight of the 944 \ 

Later, Dave and Pete climbed up and made their 
way along the dark deck to the lee of the after 
16 


SUBMARINE CHASER 944 

house. There, with the hulk of the three-inch gun 
black before them, and the light of the next chaser in 
line swaying astern, they became better acquainted. 
Fisher’s Island dropped away to port, and the 944 
began to dip and roll, and presently they went back 
to the fo’c’sle and turned in. 

Dave stood morning watch, and was on deck 
when the first light of day came up over the eastern 
edge of the world. The 944 was some fifty miles 
east of Cape Cod, and as the dawn brightened he 
saw that the four chasers had become four times 
four, and that a big gray cruiser, four-stacked, and 
bristling with eight-inch and six-inch guns, was hov- 
ering to southward. Most of the chasers were of 
one class, boats built for their work, capable and 
speedy looking no-footers, but here and there a 
converted yacht, generally similar to the 944 , lent 
variety. Signals fluttered from the flagship, and 
were answered, and by the time the first rays of the 
sun were leveled along the ocean the flotilla of tiny 
adventurers had formed in a hollow square forma- 
tion, and, with the big cruiser leading, were tossing 
the foam from their bows. All that day they 
steamed eastward over a summer sea, for all the 
world like a lot of little gray ducklings following a 
17 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

mother duck, and at night, with only stern lights 
showing dimly, they kept their places and dropped 
the miles steadily behind them. 

On every craft lookouts watched from deck and 
cage, for while never yet had a hostile periscope 
poked itself above those waters, there was no know- 
ing when such a thing might happen. Dave had his 
first trick in the foretop cage the second day out. 
He toed the ratlines and squirmed into the little gray 
canvas cask that was barely big enough to hold him. 
Sitting erect, his head just topped the rim. Twelve 
feet below was the flying bridge in front and the 
big, squatty funnel behind. The breeze sang in his 
ears and made elfin music in the aerial wires. It 
was rather jolly up there at first, but after awhile the 
sunlight hurt his eyes and he began to weary of the 
ceaseless swing of his perch as the short mast canted 
from side to side. The motion wasn’t as soothing 
as that of a hammock. Watching the other chasers 
and the big cruiser grew monotonous, and searching 
the empty ocean for enemy periscopes was horribly 
idle. It was an event when he could report: 
“ Smoke two points off the port bow, sir,” or “ Sail 
dead ahead.” He didn’t exactly wish for a sub- 
marine, perhaps, but he came near it toward the last 
18 


SUBMARINE CHASER 944 

of his trick. He had two hours of it up there, and 
then slid down to make way for his relief. 

Life those first two days was pleasant enough. 
He found his place and learned his duties, and be- 
came known to the rest of “ the bunch ” as “ The 
Kid,” which title, since he was the youngest member 
of the crew, he was fairly entitled to. Pete Rooney 
figuratively adopted him, and as Pete was a popular 
and respected person, that fact was held to be in his 
favor. Chuck Morgan grouched, and gloomed at 
him, but Chuck was in the starboard watch, and they 
met not so frequently as they would have otherwise. 
The food was excellent, and the cook a wonder, and 
as long as the chaser behaved herself meals were 
jolly occasions. They had three days of perfect 
weather, with a light easterly breeze and a smooth 
sea, and then things happened. 

Some time in the early morning of the fourth 
day Dave awoke from his dreams to find himself 
rolling from one side to the other of his bunk, and 
in danger of leaving it completely. The little boat 
was full of whines and creakings, while outside a 
northeast gale was howling loudly. The 944 soon 
showed her shortcomings as a rough weather craft, 
for her narrow beam and light draught, while ex- 
19 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


cellent for the purpose of pursuing submarines and 
eluding torpedoes, made her easy prey for a gale. 
Mess tables were of no use that morning, and even 
the Old Man and the luff ate breakfast with one 
hand and clung to something stable with the other. 
By that time the 944 was thrusting her sharp, arch- 
ing bow right into the waves, and the big seas were 
roaring back across her deck. They donned their 
life-vests and stretched the lifelines, but even then 
getting from one end of the boat to the other was 
a slow and risky business. One by one the com- 
panion craft disappeared from vision in the murk. 
The gale increased in fury that night, and after a 
wave had smashed in the wheel house as though it 
had been cardboard, the 944 was swung about, tail 
to the storm, and went plunging and rolling south- 
westward. 

The next day found them fighting hard. Port- 
holes had been smashed and the lower deck was 
flooded half the time. Somewhere the seams had 
opened, and the hold fairly gurgled. The wireless 
went when the dynamo was flooded, and with that 
they lost their last touch with the flagship. On deck 
everything movable that had not been lashed tight 
had gone by the board, and much that still stood 


20 


SUBMARINE CHASER 944 

was broken or twisted. They managed to keep 
the water from the engine room only by pumping 
ceaselessly, and Dave took his turn with the others 
at standing almost waistdeep in water and clearing 
waste and debris from the top of the pump to keep 
it from clogging. Following seas climbed over the 
stern and threatened to make an end of the little 
craft. The water poured down the wardroom stairs 
in cataracts, and clothes, shoes, books, and papers 
floated about there in wild confusion. The 944 
carried two small boats, which were lashed in chocks 
amidships. These stood the pounding until, in the 
middle of the morning watch of the sixth day out, 
one of them broke loose and went banging to the 
rail. 

Dave was one of those hurried to the rescue. 
Wrestling with a twelve-foot boat on a wet, slip- 
pery deck that stood at all angles, and under the 
hammering of a sixty-mile gale and giant seas, is 
man’s work, and so the half-dozen sailors found it. 
But they kept at it, holding tight when a wave thun- 
dered down on them, and then working like Trojans 
before the next, and they at last got the boat back 
in place, and were securing it with new lashings, 
when a warning cry sent them groping for holds. 


21 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

The sea that came aboard over the starboard stern 
looked to Dave, in the faint light of a single lantern, 
as high as a house. He didn’t expect to survive it 
himself, and didn’t expect the 944 to. He took a 
strangle hold on the lifeline, crouched, and set his 
teeth. 

Then he was down, with tons of water atop him, 
and his hold On the rope was torn away, and, chok- 
ing and smothering, he was rolling helplessly across 
the canting deck. He tried to call out, but got only 
a mouthful of water for his pains, felt horribly 
frightened, and made frantic grasps with his 
hands. 

After what seemed a very long time he found 
himself face down on the deck, with one hand 
clasped painfully about a boat davit and the lower 
half of his body suspended sickeningly over a void. 
He had no breath with which to call for aid, and 
scant chance in any case, for, with a crash that stag- 
gered the chaser, another seething cliff of water 
struck the counter and hurled itself forward. Dave 
heard a strangled cry in the darkness above the con- 
fusion of sound, and then, with a silent prayer for 
mercy, he flattened himself to the planks, felt the 
boat reel wildly, and knew that, despite his clasp 


22 


SUBMARINE CHASER 944 

on the davit, he must go over the side when that 
weight of water struck him. 

There was a brief moment of suspense, during 
which Dave’s thoughts raced at lightning speed, and 
then, with the noise of Niagara, the solid wall of 
water struck the stern house and came leaping over 
and past with wild, resistless fury. Dave’s last gasp 
of breath was driven from his lungs under the im- 
pact, his straining fingers were torn loose, and, in 
a roaring flood, he went, turning over and over, 
into the maelstrom of the seas. 


CHAPTER III 


LOST OVERBOARD 

Down he went, the dull roar of water in his ears. 
Then, even more quickly, he was shot to the surface. 
Instinctively he thrashed arms and legs. His lungs 
seemed bursting by the time his head was momen- 
tarily above the waves, and he could not have cried 
out had his life depended on it. All he could do 
was take a great breath of air as he went swirling 
upward on the crest of a sea. For an instant he 
opened closed eyes. Below him was a dim gleam 
of light, and even as he sank suddenly downward 
again into a trough he startledly realized that the 
944 was almost within arm’s length. Then he was 
again buried under an avalanche of water and must 
needs fight for breath and struggle mightily, and 
when next he could blink the drops from his eyes 
the faint glow was above him but no farther away. 
By some strange whim of wind or current, he 
thought, he was being borne along with the boat! 
24 


LOST OVERBOARD 


At another moment the absurdity of the idea would 
have followed the thought, but not now. Now he 
accepted the miracle and made the most of it. 
Drawing a deep breath into the tired lungs, he 
shouted with all his remaining strength. 

But that cry was whisked away on the gale and 
never reached the deck. A deluge of water, break- 
ing over the boat, descended on him and sent him 
rolling over and over, gasping and choking. Then 
a mighty wave caught him up and again tossed him 
high in air, and it was then, thrashing and fighting 
to get his head above the surface, that one hand 
collided with a rope and the miracle was explained. 
He knew then why he had been so abruptly pulled 
from the depths and why he was still alongside the 
chaser. In some strange manner a line, probably 
one that they had been lashing the small boat with, 
had fouled itself around him and caught under his 
life-vest. At all events there it was, slackening and 
tightening, pulling him willy-nilly through the sea. 
He gripped both hands about it and held on tightly, 
while a warm flood of hope and thankfulness surged 
through him. Then he began to pull himself, hand 
over hand, half drowning under the battering waves. 
Fear that the line might come away at the other 
25 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


end before he could reach safety stopped the beat- 
ing of his heart once, but he kept on. At moments 
he was thrown high above the deck, at other times 
he wallowed far below it, and as the line jerked in 
his grasp he set his teeth and held his breath and 
went floundering with it, his hands and arms ach- 
ing with the strain. Then, in the black darkness, he 
knew that the hull was beside him. A sudden roll 
of the boat left him dangling for an instant half 
out of water. He didn’t shout, for he needed every 
ounce of his strength for the task that remained. 
Twice his body was hurled with terrific force against 
the side and what little breath remained with him 
was hammered out. But he held doggedly to the 
rope and waited and after what seemed long, long 
minutes wave and boat combined to solve his prob- 
lem. At the moment that the 944 rolled her port 
rail down a wave lifted him up. He pulled fran- 
tically on the line and then, releasing one hand, 
groped for another hold. 

There was a horrible instant of despair during 
which his eager fingers encountered only empty air, 
but then, as the deck swung away and he felt him- 
self dropping back into the sea, his fingers closed 
about a rail stanchion. He found a hold for his 
26 


LOST OVERBOARD 


left hand, too, as the 944 careened to starboard, and 
he felt his dripping body torn from the water and 
left dangling against the hull. For a second of time 
he hung there limp and still while the roll of the boat 
carried him up and up. Then, summoning what lit- 
tle strength was left in his tired body, he squirmed 
and pulled, reaching for new holds, finally working 
one knee over the edge and then holding himself 
there while the boat rolled back again and a torrent 
of water, bursting over the stern, tore at his strain- 
ing hands. He wanted to gasp for help then, but 
there was no breath left, and his appeal was no 
more than a whisper. His wet clothing seemed to 
weigh tons, and he despaired of ever pulling himself 
to safety. And perhaps he never would have. But 
while he clung there like a limpet, hands fastened 
under his shoulders and he felt himself being lifted. 
Then the deck flung itself up at him and he knew 
no more. 

When he opened his eyes again he was undressed 
and between the gray blankets of his bunk in the 
dimly lighted fo’c’sle. Figures moved about him 
hazily. Some one tried to make him drink some- 
thing hot, and after muttered objections he swal- 
lowed a few mouthfuls and was horribly sick at his 
27 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


stomach. He must have slept after that, for when 
he awoke again daylight was flooding the quarters. 
He felt absurdly weak, too tired to lift the hand that, 
unconsciously, had braced against the edge of the 
bunk while he slept, too weary to keep his eyes 
open. He dozed again and awoke a third time to 
find Pete gently shaking him. 

“ Here’s your grub, Kid,” said Pete. “ Your 
orders is to drink this coffee and eat the chuck. 
Cook’s made you a fine mess o’ gruel. Want to sit 
up?” 

Dave blinked and cast a puzzled look about the 
fo’c’sle. Yes, it really was the fo’c’sle, which was 
a mighty relief to him, since during his recent doze 
he had dreamed that he was fighting for life in the 
sea. Clothing swayed with every roll and toss and 
boots slid around the floor. Clinging to the frame 
of the bunk, Pete was balancing himself with diffi- 
culty and the coffee by some seemingly superhuman 
effort. He was alternately frowning anxiously at 
the aluminum cup and grinning at Dave. Dave 
shook his head, however. 

“ I’m not hungry, thanks, Pete,” he said. 
“ What — who — ” 

“What — who yourself! Come on now an’ be 
28 


LOST OVERBOARD 


a sport, Kid. Orders is orders, you know. An* 
say, if you don’t eat this chow cook’ll be in here 
with his cleaver. He’s in a nasty temper, anyway, 
what with makin’ coffee standin’ on his head. Take 
it from Pete, Kid, you’d better do as he tells you.” 

Dave smiled and squirmed higher in the bunk, 
and, with Pete, braced against the side, aiding, man- 
aged to get nearly as much coffee down his throat 
inside as out. And he succeeded ultimately in 
swallowing some of the gruel and trying to look 
grateful, although he secretly thought it particularly 
vile. Pete refused him talk until he had made his 
meal. Then setting mug and pannikin on the deck, 
where they at once began to chase each other 
to and fro, he staggered to the end of the bunk, 
bumped his head resoundingly and sat down very 
suddenly. 

“ Well, now, how does it feel to be drowned an’ 
come to life again, Kid?” he inquired. “ Say, 
you’re a lucky guy all right, do you know it ? Jonah 
ain’t got nothin’ on you. You wasn’t never born to 
be drowned, I guess. If poor old Billy — ” 

Pete stopped abruptly. 

" Who’s poor old Billy? ” asked Dave weakly. 

“ Nobody,” growled Pete. “ Tell me, Kid, did’ 
29 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


you tie that line around you before you went over, 
or what? ” 

“ No, I didn’t know it was there at first. I guess 
I was in the water five minutes before I happened 
to find it.” 

“ Five minutes ! ” said Pete, looking queer. 

“ Well, something like that. Why? ” 

“ How long do you think you was gone from our 
midst altogether ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Pete. It seemed a long time, but 
I suppose it wasn’t more than ten minutes, maybe.” 

“ Huh! You was gone just about three minutes 
from the time the wave struck us till I hauled you 
in again ! ” 

“ Three minutes,” faltered Dave. “ You’re fool- 
ing ! Why — why, it seemed like twenty ! ” 

“ Sure, I guess it did, at that. After that sea 
flattened us out Myers shouts ‘ Who’s gone ? ’ 
Well, we didn’t know because we was all pretty 
busy pickin’ ourselves out o’ the water. I was 
jammed so hard under the boat we was lashin’ I 
couldn’t scarcely get out again. Then Myers tells 
us to call our names, an’ we done so, an’ we seen 
that — that you wasn’t there. Leastways we knew 
it. So some one heaves over a life-buoy and Myers 
30 


LOST OVERBOARD 


tries to make the bridge to report, ’cause shoutin’ 
wasn’t no good. An’ about that time another wave 
strikes us an’ we had to hold on for our lives. That 
wave was about as fierce as the first one, too, and 
Billy — ” Again Pete caught himself up. " Any- 
way, it was after that that I got to the side, with 
Mallory holdin’ on to me an’ the life-line, an’ sort 
o’ seen you hangin’ to the rail. It wa’n’t more than 
three minutes all told, Kid. We thought first you 
hadn’t never been clear over but had caught yourself 
at the rail. Then, when we got you back on deck 
there was the line snarled up with your life-vest and 
twisted around under your arms. Kid, you ain’t 
got no kick cornin’ against your luck, take it from 
Pete!” 

“ No,” agreed Dave, gravely. Then, “ Wasn’t 
Billy Groom with us last night there? ” he asked. 

Pete nodded. 

“ What — where is he now ? ” 

“ Billy? Oh, Billy’s — Billy’s around, I guess.” 
Pete spoke carelessly enough, but his eyes shifted 
from Dave’s. “ Well, we’re glad to get you back, 
Kid, an’—” 

"Was Billy drowned, Pete?” asked Dave in a 
small voice. 


31 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Pete frowned deeply, glanced at the other, looked 
away again, thrust out his lower lip and at last 
nodded silently. 

“ Gee ! ” murmured Dave. 

“ He went over in the next wave,” said Pete, 
scowling. “ He never had no show in that sea. 
We slung him a ‘ doughnut/ but I guess it never 
came near him. I thought I wouldn’t tell you, 
'cause it might make you sick again.” Pete eyed 
the other anxiously. 

“ It does — sort of,” muttered Dave. “ I had all 
the luck, didn’t I ? Groom was a better sailor than 
I’ll ever be, Pete. He had his rating badge. I 
guess it would have been fairer if — if he’d had the 
rope.” 

“Aw, chase yourself!” growled Pete. “ Billy 
was all right, sure. He was a corkin’ lad. We’re 
all sorry about him. But say, things don’t just hap- 
pen in this world, if you get me, Kid. I mean ” — 
Pete frowned deeply — “ I mean things is all doped 
out for us beforehand. You was meant to have 
that line an’ poor old Billy Groom wasn’t. I don’t 
know why, but there it is. Maybe you was wanted 
to do somethin’ Billy couldn’t. I don’t know. 
Well, I got to beat it. The luff’ll be around pretty 
32 


LOST OVERBOARD 

soon to see how you are. If you don’t want to 
tumble out yet, don’t you do it. Take it easy, 
Kid.” 

And so Dave took it easy, lying in the bunk and 
listening to the creaks and groans of the little craft 
and the rush and thud of the green seas outside, 
and wondered soberly at the ways of Fate. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE MUTINY 

The 944 never picked up her consorts on that 
trip, for with her wireless apparatus out of com- 
mission for three days she had no means of locating 
them even if they had been within range of her 
radio, which was doubtful. The day after Dave’s 
exploit and the drowning of Gunner’s Mate Groom 
the gale died out to some extent, and the wind 
shifted to the northwest, and the chaser’s course 
was changed accordingly. The morning of the 
seventh day out of New York brought fair weather, 
but the seas were still mountainous and the boat’s 
troubles were not yet ended, for only by keeping the 
bilge pump ceaselessly at work could the water be 
kept out of the engine room. Temporary repairs 
were made where possible, and the boat’s nose 
headed toward the nearest port. Fuel was getting 
low and the opened seams demanded attention. 
For two more days the 944 churned her way up 
34 


THE MUTINY 


and down the long, green seas, bedraggled but still 
game. Then, late one warm, still afternoon, Dave, 
in the foretop lookout, picked up land, and before 
dark the tired little chaser's anchor was dropped at 
Palma, one of the Canary Islands. That port, how- 
ever, was only a temporary refuge, for, since it was 
a Spanish possession and therefore neutral, their 
visit was necessarily limited to twenty-four hours. 

The next day, after getting oil, they set off 
again for Lisbon. Those were unfriendly wat- 
ers and a sharp lookout was kept. But while 
they began to meet other craft as they neared 
the entrance to the Mediterranean nothing hostile 
came their way. Once a big Norwegian freighter 
exchanged signals with them and once a Portuguese 
destroyer, a queer, blue-gray, two- funnel ship, bore 
down on them and asked many questions. South 
of Cape St. Vincent the 944 passed close to a string 
of British transports and hospital ships being con- 
voyed by five big black cruisers and a diminutive 
torpedo boat. The 944 received her first kind word 
then when the flagship, after a few fluttered ques- 
tions, signaled: “Welcome to these waters!” 

The chaser had the coast of Portugal in sight for 
most of that day and finally, picking her way very 
35 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


slowly and respectfully through the mine fields at 
the mouth of the Tagus River, crept into Lisbon 
harbor and anchored, just at sunset, between a 
French destroyer and a big gray Portuguese battle- 
ship. 

The 944 spent eight days at Lisbon, eight blissful, 
restful days, during which she was patched and 
calked and cleaned and painted, and during which 
twenty-seven sea-surfeited officers and men made 
the most of the opportunity to stretch legs ashore. 
Liberty was freely granted, and Dave and Pete, now 
fairly inseparable, saw the city from end to end. 
They rode in a broken-down taxicab for nearly two 
hours at the expense of a mere 2,000 reis (which, 
fortunately for their pockets, was only two dollars 
of American money), patronized street cars, which 
were so numerous that Pete remarked in a home- 
sick voice that they had New York in the rush hours 
lashed to the mast, and they lunched and dined at 
numerous cafes in company with soldiers and sail- 
ors of several nations and a scattering of darker- 
skinned civilians. Lisbon was very colorful, very 
gay and very hot, and, save for the presence of the 
sailors and soldiers, the latter uniformed similarly 
to the French, no one would have surmised that a 
36 


THE MUTINY 


world war was going on only a few hundred miles 
away. But even if Lisbon didn’t seem greatly in- 
terested in that struggle, she proved that war was 
not outside her philosophy by staging a small affair 
of her own. Dave never did hear any very satis- 
factory explanation of it, but he had a close view 
from start to finish. 

It was the fifth day of the 944’s enforced sojourn 
there. She had gone onto the ways and had slipped 
off again and now, once more respectably gray and 
spotless, was lying near shore on the Lisbon side. 
There had been visits that morning. Officers from 
a Portuguese ship had come aboard, been enter- 
tained and gone off again. Dave and Pete with 
several others were trying to keep cool in the shade 
of the after-house, while from forward, where a 
handful of men were lying about in the bunks in 
preference to going ashore, the strains of “ Some- 
where in France ” came faintly from the phono- 
graph by way of the open ports. Dutchy sang the 
words under his voice. It was a quiet, peaceful 
scene, bathed in the hot sunlight of an August after- 
noon. A dozen or more warships of various sizes 
and nationalities were scattered about at anchor and 
many dozens of merchantmen and smaller fry swung 
37 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

with the tide or clustered at the docks. And into 
this peaceful scene there suddenly obtruded the dis- 
tant boom of a gun. 

Later, all agreed that an atmosphere of unrest 
and expectancy had hung over the harbor that day, 
but it had been too elusive to deserve mention. 
Now, it seemed, whatever had been coming had 
arrived. Half a dozen startled and interested 
American jackies sprang to their feet and gazed to- 
ward the town. Then they gazed across the har- 
bor for, just short of a big battleship lying near 
the farther shore, a spout of water arose from the 
harbor like a geyser. Within the next two minutes 
many things happened. The battleship began to 
fire broadside turrets, more geysers appeared and 
the air overhead was filled with the shriek of flying 
shells. Dutchy got half way down the forward 
companion before he found his nerve and came 
sheepishly back. To left and right of the battle- 
ship, destroyers joined in the fray, trying, with no 
discernible success, to land shells atop a battery that 
crowned a hill above the harbor. The distance was 
too much for the destroyers’ guns, or perhaps it 
was a matter of elevation that worked against them. 
Or it may be that, after all, they didn’t try very 

38 


THE MUTINY 


hard. At all events it was only the battleship that 
was able to reply satisfactorily. 

A dozen or more greatly mystified American 
jackies and one equally mystified lieutenant 
thronged to the stern of the P44 and gazed spell- 
bound. What it meant no one could even conjec- 
ture, although Pete did finally offer a theory. 
“ They’re crazed by the heat ! ” he murmured 
awedly. The shells from the hill were finding their 
targets now, and, although the battleship was do- 
ing some lively work, she was getting the worst of 
the exchange. Some five ships took part in the 
battle, four of them destroyers, and three were re- 
ceiving hard treatment five minutes after the trouble 
started. As the P44 was not in range no effort was 
made to move her. The shells screamed over her, 
but none came near. The crew of one of the de- 
stroyers took to the boats, and then on the battle- 
ship the flag began to come down. But the shrap- 
nel still burst about the big ship. By that time ma- 
chine gun fire had opened from the arsenal on the 
harbor-side, and one of the small boats bearing 
sailors from the abandoned destroyer was raked, 
several casualties resulting. Along the docks inter- 
ested spectators looked on unexcitedly. Three de- 
39 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


stroyers were still firing at the shore battery but with 
scant success. That none of the ships returned the 
fire from the arsenal puzzled those on the 944 , for 
the arsenal guns were now dealing havoc. Lieuten- 
ant Hyatt, who had been watching affairs from the 
stern of the chaser, suddenly turned and gave or- 
ders. The crew scattered and the lieutenant strode 
forward and climbed to the bridge. A minute later 
the chaser had her anchor up and was swinging 
slowly around. 

Down the harbor she went unhurriedly and with 
much dignity until she lay broadside to the arsenal. 
As she approached the range of the guns the firing 
dwindled and stopped, for the American ensign 
fluttered above her, and however eager the troops 
behind the stone walls may have been to shoot down 
the sailors aboard their own ships they had no inten- 
tion of starting international complications. The 
944 dropped anchor once more and began to swing 
slowly around with the current. On deck, as the 
chasers had approached the firing zone, there had 
been some uneasiness and a very evident desire to 
retire to the protection of deck houses, but on the 
bridge, in full view, Lieutenant Hyatt, a cigar in his 
mouth, had strolled nonchalantly to and fro as 
40 


THE MUTINY 


though he had never a care in the world and bullets^ 
had never been known to penetrate a white duck 
uniform. 

The maneuver had puzzled the men at first, but. 
when Lingard, boatswain’s mate, pointed across the 
harbor they saw the reason for it. One of the 
destroyers had pulled up her anchor and was slip- 
ping down toward the arsenal. At least two guns, 
were manned, and the ship’s intention was as plain 
as a pikestaff. She had meant to run past and let 
go at the arsenal with her port guns, a feat that 
would have caused considerable havoc. Now, how- 
ever, evidences of a change of heart were to be 
seen. The 944 had dropped anchor so close under 
the walls of the arsenal that the destroyer would, 
scarcely dare to attempt to squeeze past on the shore 
side, while, if she attempted to fire from the other, 
she would very probably land a four-inch shell some- 
where in the American boat. Lieutenant Hyatt 
seemed never to so much as glance at the destroyer, 
but it is to be suspected that he had a very fair idea, 
of her actions, and possibly he was quite as much 
relieved as any one aboard when the long, gray craft 
changed her course and swung back toward the. 
farther shore. 


4i 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Shrapnel from the hill top followed her, but the 
aim was poor and there were no hits and the de- 
stroyer returned to her former anchorage and down 
came her flag on the run. The battleship and one 
destroyer had already capitulated and now the re- 
maining two followed the example. In five min- 
utes more the battle was over, in ten the sightseers 
along shore had returned to their interrupted affairs, 
atnd in twenty Lisbon harbor had settled down 
again into its wonted peacefulness. 

When the liberty boat came back later the mys- 
tery was explained. The Portuguese navy, or so 
much of it as was in port, had decided to mutiny, 
the sailors concluding that they didn’t care to take 
any further part in the war. Seizing a time when 
many of the officers were ashore the crews had im- 
prisoned the rest and declared their independence. 
It had taken the fort, however, less than twenty min- 
utes to show them the error of their ways. What 
happened afterward to the mutineers those on the 
944 never learned. Several were injured and many 
were conveyed later to the arsenal in irons, but their 
ultimate fate was not learned. Pete said he didn’t 
believe they’d shoot any of them because it was 
against the law to take the life of a crazy person, 
42 


THE MUTINY 


and, he added, “ if those poor nuts weren’t crazy I’ll 
eat my hat! An’ say, Kid, I’ll be a lot easier in 
what I call my mind when we pull out o’ here. I’m 
feelin’ sort o’ queer in the bean myself. It must be 
in the air ! ” 

Four days later, having received her orders, the 
944 slipped out of the Tagus and pointed her gray 
nose due north. No one aboard had any regrets, 
for Pete spoke for all when, looking back at the fad- 
ing city, he said solemnly : “ Them Portugueezers 

may be all right when you get to understand them, 
but they ain’t home folks ! ” 


CHAPTER V 


“ SURRENDER ! ” 

The chaser picked up Cape Finisterre the next 
afternoon and for an hour or more had the coast 
of Spain in sight Then land fell away again and 
their course was laid for Ireland, and Pete was jub- 
ilant. A second day without event brought them 
fairly into the submarine zone and since, of officers 
and men, only Kennedy, of the after gun crew, had 
sailed those waters during war time, there was a 
good deal of poorly disguised excitement aboard. 
They never got very far from their life-vests and 
when any one had nothing else to do he leaned 
against something somewhere on deck and strained 
his eyes for periscopes. And, of course, with so 
much looking and so much expectancy something 
was bound to happen, and did. 

Just at sunset that evening Stearns, on lookout 
duty forward, raised his voice in a shout that was 
part triumph and part alarm. “ Submarine broad 
44 


“ SURRENDER !” 


off the port bow ! ” yelled Stearns. “ Submarine, 
sir ! You can see her plain ! ” Every one within 
sound of the lad’s voice flocked to t,he rail, while, on 
the bridge, Captain Cowan already had his glasses 
to his eyes. And there she was, as plain as the 
lookout had promised, some two miles distant, just 
awash and apparently motionless. The sun’s rays 
showed bright on the curve of her hull, and, while 
no conning tower was visible, she was unmistak- 
ably a U-boat. Even Kennedy agreed to that. 
There were two courses open to the 944 . One was 
to get away from that place as quickly as her en- 
gines would take her and the other was to fight. 
To the credit of the chaser be it said that several 
seconds before the order came from the bridge, both 
bow and after guns had lost their jackets and two 
crews were very busy with breech mechanism and 
ammunition. 

Captain Cowan put his mouth to the engine room 
tube, eager hands fastened on lifebelts, the 944 
swept to port, the engines played a louder tune and 
the broad, slanting funnel poured black smoke. 
Soon the chaser was doing her best, or perhaps a 
little better, for down below engineers and firemen 
knew what the stake was and were working with a 
45 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

will. Half a mile was swept astern. The subma- 
rine paid them no heed. At the bow gun the crew 
watched the bridge imploringly and growled im- 
patiently over inaction. Finally: 

“ Ready, down there ? ” called the luff. 

“ Ready, sir!” 

“ Nineteen hundred yards! ” 

“ Nineteen, sir!” 

“ Eighteen-fifty!” 

“ Right, sir!” 

Then came a disgusted wail from the foretop: 
“ Taint a sub, sir! It’s a capsized boat! ” 

A moment of silent dismay followed. The 944 
plowed on, ducking her bows and spraying the for- 
ward gun crew. Then, from the bridge : “ The 

lookout’s right,” came the disgusted tones of the 
luff. “ But you’ll never have a better target, men. 
Fire!” 

Well, there was some satisfaction in that, and the 
crew made the best of it. Perhaps it was just as 
well that the target was not a U-boat, after all, for 
the first two shells dropped far short and the third 
was only a doubtful hit. But after that that floating 
hulk never had a chance. The after gun crew re- 
quested to be allowed to join in the festivities and 

46 


“ SURRENDER! ” 


were given permission, and for a few minutes that 
small area of the North Atlantic was noisy indeed. 
The after crew claimed the honors later, and the sub- 
ject afforded animated and even heated debate all 
the rest of the evening, but the question was never 
settled. The only thing certain was that the hull 
of a small schooner, possibly that of a French fish- 
erman, was the recipient of some ten shells and 
finally sank gracefully from the scene. 

That night there was a second alarm, but this 
time it was a glimmering fish that darted past the 
bow and caused the cry of “ Torpedo! ” The ex- 
citement had subsided by the time Dave had reached 
the companion, still fumbling with his life- vest. 
The rest of the night passed uneventfully, save for 
the sighting of two patrol boats. 

Morning came with a calm sea and a silvery 
mist, and Dave was busy with pail and brush in the 
lee of the after-house when there came a startled 
cry from a lookout in the waist, echoed by others. 
Dave dropped his brush, straightened up and gazed 
about him. On deck everything looked normal. 
Then his eyes swept seaward and his jaw dropped. 
Not fifty yards away, spectrally visible in the ocean 
haze, rode a long, low shape that kept pace with 
4 7 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


them and drew gradually closer. He had often and 
often speculated on what it would be like to find a 
U-boat alongside, and now he knew ! For the first 
moment surprise crowded out all other emotions. 
He could hear and almost see the water running 
from the scuppers, and he did see the sudden ap- 
pearance of the two guns, one forward and one aft 
of the conning tower, that arose as if by magic from 
the deck. Then he came to life and stopped being 
curious. Already the after gun crew was at sta- 
tions and the chaser was a small hive of activity. 
And just then a voice came across the water through 
a megaphone. 

“ Surrender, sir, or I’ll blow you out of the 
water ! ” 

On the submarine’s deck a blue uniformed officer 
was dimly visible, his face hidden by the megaphone. 
The two guns were now trained straight on the 944. 
The officer spoke in fair English and much to the 
point. On the chaser’s bridge there was a moment 
of hesitation. Then, however, the captain made his 
answer. It isn’t printable here. And as he re- 
plied the 944 swung abruptly on her heel, bringing 
her stern around, and her after gun barked. 

That shell missed badly, principally for the rea- 
48 


“ SURRENDER !” 


son that the after gun muzzle could not be lowered 
far enough, and the U-boat replied instantly and 
with effect. Dave, hustling cartridges from the 
after-house, felt a blast of air in his face, there was a 
sharp crackling sound and he was rolling around 
in what seemed a world of flying fragments. His 
progress stopped under the small boat lashed for- 
ward of the house. Bewildered, he scrambled to 
his feet. Torn deck planking and splinters of wood 
met his gaze. A few feet away lay the box of cart- 
ridges he had been carrying. He felt dizzy and 
horribly confused. His left sleeve was torn from 
elbow to wrist and on his forearm a deep gash was 
oozing blood. The after gun was still firing, but the 
U-boat was no longer in sight. He made his way 
back, rescuing the cartridge box. Young Stearns 
came groping his way toward him, dragging one leg, 
supporting himself by the house. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Dave anxiously. “ Are 
you hurt ? ” 

“ Leg,’’ answered Stearns, trying to smile. 
“ Bust, I guess. Em all right, Kid. Don’t mind 
me.” 

He stumbled on, and Dave, feeling a little sick, 
made his way for the stern. Things were messy 
49 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


there, but the gun had escaped damage. Two of the 
crew had been hurt, but not badly. One shell, it 
seemed, had struck the boat at the stern just above 
the water line, but the swing of the craft had to 
some extent deflected the force of the explosion. 
A second, from the submarine’s forward gun, had 
passed between the gun crew and the after-house. 
A third, it was believed, had missed narrowly, unless 
it had struck somewhere forward. 

“ Do you think we’ve lost them?” asked Dave, 
ripping off the cover of the shell box. 

“ Don’t know,” replied Kennedy. “ We’re zi g- 
zagging and making east, and if this fog holds we 
may fool her.” 

“ Silence! ” commanded Briggs, gun captain, and 
firing ceased. 

“ We’re only wasting shells,” he said. “ Keep 
your eyes open, fellows, for she may show up again. 
If she doesn’t put a torpedo into us, I’m willing to 
fight her all day with guns.” 

“ Sure! ” agreed Kennedy. “ We’d have got her 
then if the Old Man had stuck it out.” 

“ Don’t be a chump,” answered Briggs. “ She 
had us broadside and would have sunk us with two 
shots. I don’t see yet how we managed to fool her.” 
50 


“ SURRENDER! ” 


“ We didn’t/' ventured Dave. “ She fooled her- 
self. That captain thought we were too surprised 
to know what to do.” 

“ That’s right,” some one else agreed. “ It’s 
lucky for us we were doing a good fourteen, or we’d 
never have turned in time.” 

“ You men that are hurt, beat it forward and get 
looked after,” said Briggs. “Don’t be long, for 
we may be busy again in a few minutes. That 
means you, too, Kid. Go ahead, all of you.” 

“ Aw, we ain’t damaged,” grumbled one of the 
wounded. “ Suppose she pops up again ? ” 

“ Do as you’re told,” replied Briggs, shortly. 

Dave followed the other two and, in the fo’c’sle 
had his arm hastily bathed and bound up. The 944 
was tearing off a good twenty miles an hour and 
still dodging from port to starboard and back again. 
But as Dave hurried back to the deck that erratic 
progress ceased and the chaser turned in a trail of 
foam and headed north once more. “If we had 
depth charges aboard, as we ought to have,” Dave 
overheard from the bridge, “ I’d look for her, but 
as it is I think we’d better mind our business.” It 
was the captain speaking, and, although Dave 
couldn’t hear what Lieutenant Hyatt said he gath- 
51 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

ered that the latter was not approving of running 
away. 

The mist had amber gleams in it now, for east- 
ward the sun was well out of the sea. Dave satis- 
fied himself that no damage had been wrought for- 
ward, waved a hand to Pete, who, chewing his 
gum steadily, was nonchalantly posed against the 
bow gun, and returned to his station. Already it 
was possible to see a much greater distance, for 
the sun was striking through the mist and making 
the ocean world a glorious amber mystery. He en- 
tered the after-house and picked up another box 
of cartridges, and as he stepped back to the deck 
he heard a short, sharp yelp from aft, and then 
Briggs’s voice crying: 

“ Carry on ! ” 

Then so many things happened at once that he 
could never, in memory, place them in sequence. 
The box of cartridges disappeared from nis hands 
as if by magic, the after-house fairly melted into 
nothingness, and for the second time on the voyage 
Dave found himself going down through fathoms 
of roaring water. 


CHAPTER VI 


PETE TO THE RESCUE 

After a seemingly interminable time Dave came 
sputtering back to the surface, breathless, dazed, 
feeling very much as if he had been shot from a 
mortar. His head rang and he was conscious of 
lameness in his arms. For a moment, satisfied to 
keep his head out of water, he trusted to the buoy- 
ancy of his life-vest and tried hard to realize what 
had happened. Failing, he took stock of his chances 
of rescue. At first they looked very slim. About 
him nothing was visible save the golden mist, which, 
seen from the surface, was slowly writhing under 
the first breath of a gentle breeze. Then the sharp 
bark of a rapid-fire gun shattered the silence. It 
came from his left. He started to strike out in that 
direction, but after a few strokes stopped. From 
back of him had come a second shot, and of the two 
the latter somehow sounded more like the bark of 
the 944’ s three- inch guns. He swung about and 
53 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

swam in the new direction, and as he did so a third 
shot rang out, and then a fourth, and he thought he 
could hear the sing of the shells. Two shots an- 
swered from the other gun, which now seemed in a 
new quarter. He judged that he was safely out of 
range and that the chaser and U-boat were engaged 
in a running fight. How either could be visible to 
the other in the mist he could not understand, not 
realizing that the mist, while heavy just above the 
water, was fast burning off above. The firing con- 
tinued briskly for several minutes and then stopped, 
and by that time both guns sounded much farther 
away and he realized with a sinking heart that the 
944 had abandoned him. 

That knowledge and the fact that it hurt him hor- 
ribly to use his arms stopped his labors and he let 
himself float. Fortunately, the sea was almost as 
calm as the proverbial millpond, as though the 
blanket of mist was holding it smooth. His life- 
vest held his shoulders just above the surface, and, 
he reflected, as long as the calm lasted, he would be 
able to bob about until hunger or exhaustion did its 
work. Somehow, the chance of being picked up 
didn’t enter far into his calculations. He seemed 
so absolutely alone and so tiny in that immensity of 
• 54 


PETE TO THE RESCUE 


ocean ! Perhaps, he thought, when the mist cleared 
off his plight wouldn’t look so hopeless, but just now 
he w r as thoroughly despairing. 

His thoughts jumped from one subject to an- 
other in a way that left his mind tired and confused, 
and he ended by trying not to think at all. That, 
however, was impossible, and he was soon back at 
it. He wondered whether his mother would give up 
the home at Sparrensville and join his sister and 
her husband in California, whether the 944 had es- 
caped from the submarine, how Tom Stearns’s leg 
w r as, what Pete Rooney was doing, and whether 
Pete would miss him, whether there were sharks in 
those waters, what time it was — 

Well, he could easily find that out, and he lifted 
his right arm to look at the little silver watch that 
had been strapped about his wrist. But it wasn’t 
there, and he remembered taking it off when his arm 
w r as being bandaged because the blood had trickled 
down and stained the leather. He had dropped it in 
a pocket, but he didn’t care enough now to search for 
it. Besides, he reflected dismally, the water had 
probably stopped it before this. For some reason 
that seemed the last straw, and he sniffed a few 
times and felt tears gathering in his eyes. Then the 
55 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

absurdity of crying because his watch had stopped 
struck him and he laughed aloud, a trifle hysteric- 
ally, and felt better. After all he wasn’t dead yet. 
Lots and lots of folks had been rescued in mid- 
ocean, and why not he? Hadn’t Pete declared just 
the other day that he was never born to be drowned ? 
He began to take courage again. Things might 
have been worse, he told himself, with an attempt 
at philosophy. The water might have been much 
colder and ten times rougher, and it might have 
happened at night. Now the sun was making itself 
felt more every minute and its warmth was good. 
He was talking aloud to himself by this time, and 
the sound of his own voice was cheering. To prove 
that he was not altogether downhearted he pursed 
his lips to whistle. 

The whistle didn’t come, though, for at that mo- 
ment he heard a faint cry from the mist. It 
sounded so much like his own name that he feared 
for a second that his mind was wandering. But 
there it was again : 

“ Kid-id!” 

He must be dreaming. Or had he only heard the 
cry of a gull? But he answered, putting all his 
breath in a long shout of “ Hello ! ” Then he 
56 


PETE TO THE RESCUE 


waited, his heart beating so loudly that he feared he 
would not hear the response if it came. But he did. 
From afar trailed the faint thread of sound: 
“ Shout . . . again ! ” 

He shouted, not only again but many times. 
They were seeking for him in a boat. His troubles 
were over or soon would be. He forgot the pains in 
his arms and shoulders and struck out vigorously 
toward the distant voice. It was nearer now, and 
its message was, “ Coming, Kid ! ” It was Pete. 

Through the golden haze, now fast thinning, the 
two voices drew nearer and nearer. Dave listened 
for the sound of oars, and was puzzled at not hear- 
ing them. Then Pete's cheerful tones were almost 
at hand, and Dave, pausing in his swimming, 
strained his eyes to find him. 

“ Are you all right ? ” called Pete. 

“ Yes. Where are you? ” 

“ Coming as fast as I can, Kid ! It’s slow work, 
but — 

And then out of the haze not many yards distant 
something took shape, something just above the 
water that was never in the world a boat! Dave 
stared bewilderedly as into his vision floated the 
grinning countenance of Pete, freckles and all. He 
57 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

was swimming and pushing ahead of him one of 
the chaser’s big life buoys! 

“ Get aboard,” called Pete. “ Gee, that’s the 
craziest thing I ever tried to shove ! ” 

“ Where — where did you come from?” gasped 
Dave. 

“ Oh, I just dropped over for a swim. Lay hold 
of this, Kid, and rest yourself. Sure you’re all 
right? Gee, when I saw you take a backward flip 
over the side I thought you was a gonner ! 4 Good 

night! ’ says I. But you came up all right just be- 
fore the fog hid you an’ I guessed you wasn’t dead 
yet. You and the deckhouse sort of went off to- 
gether, Kid! ” 

“ What happened ? ” asked Dave. He put his 
elbows over the canvas rim of the buoy and tried 
to get his breath back. 

“ Oh, nothin’ much, except that sub sneaked up 
on us again an’ exploded a shell in the after-house. 
Why you wasn’t killed is beyond me ! I was cornin’ 
along the deck when it happened. There was a 
bang and the house sort of melted away an’ I saw 
you doing a Kellermann into the ocean. That was 
some dive, take it from Pete! ” 

“ But — but I didn’t see the U-boat ! ” 

58 


PETE TO THE RESCUE 


“ No more did any one until she’d lammed two 
shots at us. Then Tracey, in the cage, yelled down 
that he’d found her an’ we got busy. I didn’t stay 
to help, though. I just grabbed this * doughnut ’ 
and lit on my tummy.” 

“ You mean you jumped over? What for? ” 
Pete viewed him disgustedly across the life buoy. 
“ Ain’t I told you I dropped in for a swim ? Say, 
what would you have done? Just let me go floatin’ 
off to Africa? ” 

“ Oh ! But — but Pete, you oughtn’t to have ! 
Now we’ll both drown! ” 

“ Drown ! Nothin’ doin’, Kid ! I ain’t got no 
intention of drownin’. It’s too damp. Why, say, 
this thing’ll float us until the war’s over an’ the 
United States Army’s eatin’ breakfast in Berlin ! ” 
“ Well, it was — mighty fine of you,” muttered 
Dave. “ And plucky, but you oughtn’t to have done 
it. I suppose they didn’t know I was overboard? ” 
“ You didn’t say anything to the Old Man about 
goin’, did you ? ” asked Pete, dryly. “ Even if they 
had known, you don’t suppose they’d have stopped 
to pick you up, do you? Not with that U-boat 
hammerin’ ’em to bits! They’d have dropped a life 
buoy over an’ let it go at that. Well, that’s what I 
59 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


did. Only I went over with the buoy. You see, 
I argued like this. 4 The Kid’s alive all right/ 
thinks I, ‘ but he’s sure to have somethin’ missin\ 
like a head or a leg or somethin’, an’ he won’t be 
much good for swimmin’. So what he needs is a 
pal to sort o’ aid his failin’ steps, so to speak.’ Say, 
you ain’t lyin’, are you? You’re really all here? ” 

“Yes, I am really, Pete. I feel kind of 
bruised — ” 

“ That’s funny, too ! You was only pushed over- 
board by a dose of shrapnel. Some folks is easy 
hurt ! ” 

Dave smiled. Then “ Are any of the others 
wounded or — or killed, Pete ? ” he asked. 

“ None killed, I guess. Not when I left, anyway. 
Chuck Morgan got a splinter, and I think some of 
the guys at the after gun was messed up a bit, but 
I ain’t sure. We got away from the Fritz all right, 
I guess. Sounded so, anyway. They couldn’t keep 
up with the old 944 . It seems sort o’ wrong to 
run away from ’em, but those subs has got bigger 
guns than ours, an’ a nasty way of shootin’ straight ! 
Now the question is, Kid, what’s the program goin’ 
to be ? ” 

Dave shook his head, gazing helplessly about him. 

60 


PETE TO THE RESCUE 

The mist was nearly gone, and what remained was 
writhing and twisting in the breeze. “ I suppose all 
we can do, Pete, is sit tight and wait for some one 
to pick us up.” 

“ Sure, but we might send a radio,” answered 
Peter. “ * S O S to all ships, from steamer Dough- 
nut, latitude — .’ What’s our latitude, Kid? ” 

“ I guess you’d joke if you were dying,” grum- 
bled Dave. Now that Pete was there to take com- 
mand, Dave felt privileged to grumble a little. 

“ Well, I couldn’t grouch,” replied the other 
cheerfully. “ That’s one sure thing, Kid. I don’t 
know whether we could both sit on this thing an’ 
paddle it with our feet an’ get anywhere. What do 
you think ? ” 

“ Would it hold us?” 

There was no reply from Pete. He was staring 
intently across the water. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Dave eagerly. 

“ Well, if I saw what I think I saw,” responded 
Pete, “ we won’t have to do no paddlin’.” 

“ A ship?” 

“ Yeah, sort of. A submarine. Maybe I was 
mistaken, but — no, I wasn’t neither. There she 
comes straight for us. See her? No, no, over this 
61 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

way more. You’re looking too far to the left. 
Got her?” 

“Yes,” murmured Dave. “ Do you — do you 
think she’s German, Pete?” 

“ You bet she’s German, ’cause I know that mur- 
derin’ boat like I’d know my own grandmother if I 
had one. She’s the one we been scrappin’ with, 
Kid.” 

“ Maybe she won’t see us.” 

“ No fear ! She’s spied us long ago. Well, I’d 
rather go aboard somethin’ else, but we can’t be 
choosey.” 

“Maybe it would be better if we just — just 
slipped off and went down,” faltered Dave. 

“ What for ? Think I’m scared of a bunch o’ fat 
Huns? Not so you’d ever know, Kid ! Only thing 
botherin’ me is, how’ll I be able to take dinner with 
the captain, not speakin’ no German ? ” 


CHAPTER VII 


PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 

Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach. At 
first she had been only a low, grayish protuberance 
on the sea, all detail softened and obscured by the 
last wreaths of haze, but now, a few hundred yards 
distant, she was plain enough. They could see 
men on the deck forward of the queerly shaped con- 
ning tower and the sunlight glinting on the bow gun 
and the water curving away from the knife-like 
bow. Pete, watching thoughtfully, said: 

“ They’ll be askin’ us questions, Kid, if they take 
us aboard. They’ll want to know things it ain’t 
good for ’em to know. If we don’t say nothin’ 
they’re likely to bat us on the bean and drop us over- 
board again. I guess the best way’ll be to sort o’ 
string ’em along, eh ? ” 

“Lie, do you mean?” 

“ Well, I wasn’t callin’ it that, but maybe it is. 
If you don’t like to do it, maybe you’d better leave 

63 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


the jollyin’ to me. I ain’t got no conscience when 
it comes to deceivin’ a Hun an’ a enemy.” 

“ I don’t suppose it will be lying — exactly,” an- 
swered Dave. '‘Deceiving the enemy is — is dif- 
ferent. Why don’t they sheer off a little? Are 
they trying to run us down ? ” 

It did look so, for the U-boat came gliding on as 
straight for the two boys as though it meant to 
thrust its slender nose between them. At the last 
moment, however, when Dave was ready to throw 
himself back into the water, it swung slightly and 
its long gray hull passed a few yards away. On 
the bow was the inscription U-H-37. From the 
narrow deck a dozen sailors gazed down on them, 
mildly curious, while an officer, whose gold braid was 
tarnished and worn, stood beside the forward gun 
and a second and younger officer leaned against the 
curving base of the conning tower. Each, Dave 
observed, wore on his sleeve the two stripes and 
crown of a lieutenant. The submarine’s engines 
had made a very perceptible clamor during its ap- 
proach, but now they were stilled, and the under- 
water craft slowed and stopped. It was the officer 
at the gun who spoke, and Dave thought he recog- 
nized him as the one who had shouted to the 944 

64 



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Silently they watched the U-boat’s approach 


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PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 


through a megaphone. He used no megaphone 
now, however, nor needed to, since only a dozen 
yards of water separated boat and life buoy. 

“ What ship you from? ” he asked in good Eng- 
lish. 

“ United States Chaser 944 /’ answered Pete. 

“ What you do in the water ? ” 

“ Shell knocked us in.” 

“ Want to come out? ” 

“ You bet,” answered Pete, cheerfully. 

The officer frowned mightily. “You talk to 
your officers like you talk to me, eh ? ” he demanded. 
“ Suppose I go away and leave you there ? ” 

“ Sorry, sir,” apologized Pete. But Dave 
thought he didn’t look very sorry and feared for a 
moment that the U-boat commander would act on 
his own suggestion. Instead, though : 

“ Swim here and we take you on board,” he said. 
“ You Americans have no manners. You are all 
pigs.” 

They dropped off the life buoy and started for the 
submarine, but the commander stopped them 
sharply. “ Bring with you that buoy,” he directed, 
adding grimly : “ Maybe you need it again.” 

A moment later, pulled aboard by some of the 

65 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


crew, they stood on the steel deck and faced the com- 
mander. He looked to be about forty years of age, 
and had a very round face adorned by a broad nose 
over a grizzled mustache that ended in waxed points, 
and two sharp gray eyes under heavy, bristling 
brows. He looked not unamiable, and his first 
words were good-natured enough. 

“ You go below with this man and he will find 
you some dry clothing,” he said. “ Then I will 
have a little talk with you.” A hatch mid-way be- 
tween gun and conning tower was open and through 
this, one of the sailors, a squat, sullen-faced youth, 
led the way. A ladder ran straight down, and hav- 
ing descended it they found themselves in a surpris- 
ingly long white-enameled compartment, lined with 
bunks on each side. There was an indescribable 
odor down there, an odor that seemed to combine 
the smell of oil and of stale sea water and damp 
clothing. The bunks held only mattresses and tum- 
bled gray blankets, and several were occupied. 
From a locker beneath one the sailor pulled out a 
heap of clothing which he spread out in silence on 
the floor of the narrow passage for their inspec- 
tion. 

“ I don’t want any of the dirty truck,” growled 

66 


PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 


Pete. The sailor looked up and spoke crossly in 
German, but neither knew what he said. “ Sure, 
that’s true enough,” said Pete, “ but I ain’t hank- 
erin’ for no disease, Dutchy.” 

“ I guess we’d better put them on until our own 
things are dry,” said Dave. “ If we don’t they may 
shoot us or something.” 

“ Maybe you’re right,” agreed Pete. “ Hello, 
look here ! ” He held up a blue cloth sailor’s cap, 
bearing the words, “ H. M. S. Owl ” on its ribbon. 
“ What do you know about that ? British, ain’t 
it?” 

Before Dave could reply the sailor snatched the 
cap from Pete’s hand and tossed it into the locker, 
muttering angrily. Pete’s pale blue eyes snapped 
and Dave looked for trouble, but, restraining his 
resentment, the former stooped and picked up a suit 
of stained blue flannel and proceeded to doff his own 
wet clothes which were trickling water on the floor- 
ing. Dave followed his example. At that instant 
a terrific crashing and clattering assailed their ears 
and they started in alarm. But the sound was only 
that of the big Diesel engines taking up their task 
again. There was a perceptible tremor of the frail 
steel hull and through the open hatch above a fresh 
67 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


current of air blew into the un fragrant quarters. 

When they were dressed and their wet clothing 
had been taken charge of by the sour-visaged sailor 
they were led aft along the passage, past what ap- 
peared to be an officer’s stateroom, to the central 
station beyond. This was a compartment slightly 
longer than wide, under the conning tower. The 
walls were white, save where yellow rust stains 
showed, and w r ere beaded with moisture. A ladder 
led upward to the tower and there was a bench at 
one side, but for the rest the place held only a vast 
and confusing array of machinery; huge valves, im- 
mense dials, steering wheels, compass, gauges, con- 
trollers, levers, and manifolds. A periscope termi- 
nated here, too, and against one curving steel w r all a 
round clock ticked unheard above the roar and clat- 
ter of the engines. Pipes and cables and spreading 
wires were everywhere overhead and against the 
walls, and above the steering wheel a chart hung in 
a metal frame. There was but one occupant of the 
compartment when they entered, a petty officer, 
whose rating and branch mark, an anchor and cog 
wheel, surmounted by a crown, in silver, was un- 
familiar to them. 

As the boat was on the surface it was being con- 

68 


PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 


trolled from the conning tower. Two electric lamps 
cast a wan glow over the place, leaving it in a pale 
twilight through which the metal instruments 
gleamed mysteriously. Fore and aft the passage 
seemed to continue interminably, and aft, from 
which direction the clamor of machinery came, the 
big engines were partly visible. Pete strolled across 
and seated himself on the bench, but their custodian 
sprang toward him and broke into angry growlings. 

“ Oh, all right, sport,” sighed Pete. “ But if 
you’d been pushing a life buoy all over the Atlantic 
Ocean you’d want to sit down, too.” He got up, in 
obedience to the man’s gestures, and interested him- 
self in the reflector of the periscope, eyed by the 
sailor in sullen suspicion. Several minutes passed. 
Their ears began to ache with the ceaseless clamor 
of the engines, and the air, heavy with the odor of 
crude oil and battery fumes, was oddly oppressing. 
Then the hatch above darkened and the captain de- 
scended the ladder. 

“ Ah, you feel better now, yes? ” he inquired gen- 
ially. “ So we have a little talk.” He seated him- 
self on the bench and observed them with every in- 
dication of good will. “ Your ship is a new ship, 
eh?” 


69 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

" Yes, sir,” replied Pete. “ Built two months 
ago.” 

“ And you are both seamen? Not what you call 
petty officers ? ” 

“ Seamen, sir.” 

“ The American navy is a very fine navy, I know. 
I have been in your wonderful country. You are 
building many new ships, I understand, to make war 
on us.” 

“ Yes, sir, quite a bunch of ’em,” answered Pete 
cheerfully. 

“ Yes, maybe fifty, eh? Maybe a hundred? ” 

“ I don’t know how many. They ain’t tellin’ us.” 

“So? Well, we know — we in Germany.” He 
chuckled deeply and winked at them. “We know 
much. You were on your way from New York 
when we met you, eh ? ” 

“ Yes, sir; Syracuse, New York.” 

“Syracuse?” The captain frowned. “Where 
is that?” 

“ Just south of New Rochelle,” said Pete gravely. 

“ So ? And you were going to — ? ” He 
paused, questioningly. 

“ I don’t know, sir. They forgot to tell us that. 
Somewhere across.” 


70 


PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 


“ Maybe Queenstown ? ” asked the officer, slyly. 

Pete shrugged. “ Maybe. Or Dover. Or Ply- 
mouth. I don’t know.” 

“ How happened it that you were by yourself 
alone ? ” 

“ There was some more of us, but we got lost in 
a storm.” 

“ And the others ? They were what you call 
chasers, like yourself?” 

“Cruisers, sir; seven of ’em.” 

“ So ? What were the names ? ” 

Pete hesitated a bare instant. Then : “ I don’t 

know ’em all, Captain. There was the Greenwich 
an’ the Chelsea an’ the Bronx an’ the Harlem ” 

“You are lying, eh?” purred the officer. 
“ There are no such ships in the American navy.” 

“ These is all new ones.” 

“ Ah, and how large are they ? ” asked the other, 
suspiciously. 

“ Well, middlin’ big, sir. I don’t know exactly. 
I guess the Bronx is about 8,000 tons. An’ the 
others is about like that.” 

“ Where did you part company with them ? ” 

“ Can’t say exactly. About two days out of 
Syracuse.” 


7 1 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ Where were they going to? ” asked the officer. 

44 Same place we was, but I don’t know where 
that is.” 

“ Maybe they carried soldiers. Or maybe you 
had troop ships with you, too ? ” 

44 No, sir. Not this time.” 

“ How many soldiers have left your country to 
fight against us ? ” 

44 About a thousand,” answered Pete, unblush- 
ingly. 

44 A thousand ! What you mean? ” The captain 
scowled ferociously. 44 More, more than a thou- 
sand has come across ! Many thousand ! Stop 
your lying to me or I throw you straight into the 
ocean ! ” 

44 Well, that’s what I heard,” said Pete, untrou- 
bledly. 44 Maybe two thousand. You can search 
me. 

44 Search you ? What I search you for ? What 
talk is it that you make? ” 

44 That’s just a sayin’, Captain. What we call 
slang.” 

“ So? Well, don’t talk with me slang. What 
is the trouble with this man? Can he not talk? ” 

44 Sure, he’s a fine little talker, Captain, but he 
72 


PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 


ain’t all there.” Pete dropped his voice confiden- 
tially and tapped his head and winked. “ He is 
what we call ‘ nutty.’ Get me ? ” 

Nutty?’ Crazy, you mean?” The captain 
observed Dave with new interest and in silence for 
a long minute. Then he nodded his head. “ Yes, 
he looks not quite right. What is your name, 
you?” 

“ David Garson,” prattled Dave. “ I’m eighteen 
years old and small for my age, but they say I’ll 
grow.” 

“ Small! Grow! What is he saying? Never 
mind. It does not matter.” The captain lost in- 
terest in Dave and returned to his questioning. For 
another quarter of an hour he put all kinds of in- 
quiries at Pete and received all kinds of answers. 
Occasionally he looked suspicious, but on the whole 
appeared satisfied with the information. He asked 
about the sentiment in the United States regarding 
conscription, how many men were in training, when 
they were to be sent across, how many United States 
ships were operating in French and British waters, 
what their armament was, where they were based. 
And he wanted to know how America felt toward 
Germany, and whether she expected to win the war. 
73 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


And, finally, he asked whether a certain German 
restaurant was still doing business in New York! 
In the end he said : 

“ Now I require you to give me your parole, your 
promise not to attempt to escape. Then you are 
treated fine and get plenty of food, and I put you 
ashore pretty soon. Well ? ” 

“ Nothin’ doin’, sir,” replied Pete. 

“ Eh ? What you mean, nothing doing ? Much 
will be doing if you do not do like I say ! ” 

“ That’s all right, too,” said Pete doggedly, ” but 
you don’t get any promise like that from us, Captain. 
If we get a chance to beat it, we’re goin’ to beat it, 
take it from Pete ! ” 

The captain frowned more ferociously than ever, 
and for a fearsome moment Dave, who had all 
through the latter part of the interview tried to look 
as vacant and unintelligent as he knew how, was 
horribly afraid that he would order them shot or 
tossed into the sea. But after an instant the cap- 
tain’s frown vanished and he chuckled. 

“ You are brave, my man. Also you tell the 
truth, eh? Well, so be it.” He laughed good- 
naturedly. “ You have my full permission to — 
what you say? — ‘ beat it ’ — if you can ! But since 
74 


PRISONERS ON THE SUBMARINE 


you do not give your parole, you must work for your 
living, yes. And if you do not work like you are 
told you will be punished. Maybe you like that 
better, eh? ” 

“ Sure, we’ll work, Captain. Just as long as you 
don’t ask us to sink any of our own ships, we’re 
right on the job.” 

“ So? We shall see.” He spoke in German to 
the sailor. Then : “ Go with this man,” he di- 

rected. “ He will show you where are your bunks. 
You will go neither forward nor aft from the quar- 
ters. You understand?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

The captain waved his hand. " Vorwdrts - 
gehen! ” he ordered. 

“ Meanin’ heraus mit us,” muttered Pete. 


CHAPTER VIII 


UNDER THE SEA 

The sailor indicated two upper bunks and left 
them by way of the forward hatch to their own de- 
vices. There was a table where the passage was 
widest, a greasy, much-stained affair that evidently 
came to pieces when not wanted and was stowed 
away somewhere. It was the only thing in the 
quarters that offered a seat, aside from the bunks, 
and Pete perched himself on it and looked about 
him. 

“ Well, here we are, Kid,” he said, cheerfully. 
“ Say, I never expected to be entertained on board 
a German sub! What do you think about those 
bunks ? ” He nodded toward the two that had been 
awarded them. “ Not what you’d call invitin’, 
eh?” 

Dave shook his head. “ I hate to think of sleep- 
ing in them,” he answered. “ But I suppose we’ll 
have to.” 


76 


UNDER THE SEA 


“ I guess so. Others is doin’ it.” The fact was 
evident from the sounds that came from several of 
them. “ Well, I’ll try anything once ” 

“ I guess they don’t mean to shoot us, anyway,” 
said Dave. 

“ No, they’ll hand us over to their friends on 
shore and we’ll kick our heels around one o’ their 
prison camps for the rest o’ the war, I guess.” 

“ But that’s fierce ! ” protested Dave. 

“Yeah, ain’t it? Well, then, what we’ve got to 
do is find a way out o’ this.” 

Dave looked uneasily about him. The compart- 
ment was illy lighted and the bunks were gloomy 
caverns, but a number held occupants, and there was 
always the chance that one of the latter might un- 
derstand English. He reminded Pete of that fact. 

“ That’s right, too,” agreed the latter, sinking his 
voice. “Anyway, there ain’t anything we can do 
right now. I wish I had some chow. I’m starved. 
Wonder when they eat on this Pullman.” 

“ Maybe there’s a buffet on board,” suggested 
Dave, making a weak attempt at a joke. 

“ Sure, why not ? ” Pete slid off the wabbly table 
and went prospecting forward. The compartment 
was about forty feet in length and held twenty-two 
77 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


bunks in two tiers, twelve on one side and ten on the 
other. At the forward end, in place of the last two 
bunks on the port side, stood an electric range, a 
cupboard for dishes, a small sink, and a big coffee 
tank whose copper surface glowed dimly in the half- 
light. There was also, below the cupboard, an ice 
box. To Pete's delight the coffee, although the 
electric coil beneath the tank was not going, was 
« still lukewarm, and he found two aluminum cups 
and held them under the spigot. There was no milk 
in the coffee, but it was sickeningly sweet. They 
were not fussy, however, and drank two cups of it. 
Then Pete discovered another cupboard across the 
passage and rightly suspected that it held food. But 
as it was locked he couldn’t profit by the discov- 
ery. They peered through the forward bulkhead 
door and were confronted by gray gloom through 
which loomed big tanks and huge pipes and long 
metal cylinders. 

“ Torpedo compartment," murmured Pete. “If 
they catch us lookin’ they’ll shoot us through a tube, 
I guess.’’ 

They went back, and finding an unoccupied lower 
bunk, made themselves as comfortable as they might 
against the supporting uprights. From the tiny 

78 


UNDER THE SEA 


round hatch overhead a golden column of sunlight 
slanted down. From the engine room, far aft, came 
the deafening noise of the Diesels. There was a 
rather soothing side-to-side motion quite different 
from that of an ordinary boat. 

“ She must be a pretty big one,” said Pete. 
“ 'Most two hundred feet long, I guess. What 
was the number on her ? ” 

" U-H-37” 

“ What's the H for, do you guess ? ” 

“ It’s the class number. The U stands for Un- 
tersee ” 

“ They wouldn't have to tell us that,” jeered 
Pete. “ Any one could tell it wasn't a flyin’ ma- 
chine. Wonder what it's like when the crazy thing 
sinks. Blamed if I see how we’re going to get away 
from here, Kid. I talked sort o' big to the cap., but 
I guess our chance of makin' a get-away ain’t worth 
a whole lot.” 

“ S-sh ! ” cautioned Dave. There was a stirring 
in a nearby bunk, and slowly there emerged the 
lower body of a sailor. There was a prodigious 
yawn and then the rest of the man came into view. 
He looked to be about thirty, and was small and 
thin. The face that turned in their direction was 
79 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


pale and tired and apathetic. Later they found the 
same true of most of the countenances seen on the 
boat. The man disentangled himself from a gray 
blanket, and thrust his feet into a pair of boots. 
Then, yawning again, he arose and came toward 
Dave and Pete. In front of them he stopped and 
stared hard. Then: 

“ Where’d you fellers come from ? ” he asked in 
good English. 

“ Your old man pulled us out o’ the water an 
hour or so ago,” answered Pete. “ Say, I seen you 
before somewhere, ain’t I ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Maybe so. I lived in New York 
a good while. You come from New York? ” 

“ Sure! Where was you in New York? ” 

“ All around. I’m a waiter. I worked in ’most 
a dozen places there. I was there nine years.” 

“ Well, I seen you somewhere, all right. How 
do you like this job? Beats waitin’, eh? ” 

“ It beats everything,” said the German with grim 
humor. “ It is awful.” He scowled darkly. 
“ Pretty soon I’m going to chuck it. Where did you 
live in New York? ” 

“ All around.” Pete waved a hand vaguely. 
“Vanderbilt, Astor, Plaza — all them places.” 

80 


UNDER THE SEA 


“ You’re joking,” replied the other, without a 
smile. “ What has happened? I went to sleep 
after we chased a little American yacht. Were you 
on that ? ” 

“ We was. Now we ain’t. It’s the fortunes o’ 
war. Say, what happened to her? Did you thugs 
get her ? ” 

The man shrugged. “ I do not think so. It was 
very foggy.” 

“Fine! What time do we eat here?” 

“Twelve o’clock. It ain’t eating, though. It’s 
just — just — ” He shrugged his shoulders, at a 
loss. 

“ Don’t sound good to me,” said Pete, shaking his 
head. “ Your captain told us we’d get treated fine 
an’ have plenty of food. If the chow ain’t good, 
I’ll leave. I give you fair warnin’, friend.” 

The German didn’t seem to have a smile left in- 
him, however. He only shook his head glumly. 
“ They won’t let you go,” he said. “ If you behave, 
maybe they’ll take you ashore, and you’ll go to a 
prison.” 

“ If we behave! ” ejaculated Dave. “ What will 
happen if we don’t? ” 

The German shrugged again. “ I don’t know. 
81 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


I guess the captain will throw you overboard and 
let you drown.” 

“ I don’t think I like your captain,” said Pete. 
“ Drown is what we’d do, too, for the thief swiped 
our life-vests.” 

“ You mustn’t call the captain a thief. If he 
heard you he would punish you. I must go now. 
I hope all goes well with you. I like Americans. I 
have many good friends in New York.” 

“ You mean you had,” said Pete, gruffly. “ If 
you like Americans, what in thunder are you fight- 
ing 'em for? ” 

“ But it is not my country, America. I fight for 
my country.” 

“ Go to it, bo ! It won’t get you much ! ” 

“ I hope he chokes,” growled Pete when the sailor 
had taken himself aft down the long, dim passage. 
“ They make me tired, that sort. Come over to 
the U. S. A. and make a good livin’, an’ then, when 
trouble starts, beat it back here an’ try to strafe us. 
If I had my way I’d dump the lot of ’em in the har- 
bor before they got a chance.” 

“ But there are lots that haven’t done that, Pete. 
Many German-born men are now good Ameri- 
cans.” 


82 


UNDER THE SEA 


“ Sure, that’s so. But guys like that gets my 
goat. Hello, what’s happenin’ now ? ” 

“ Tauch station!” came the command along the 
passage. 

There was a sudden silence, for the moment more 
appalling than the former clamor, followed by a 
rushing sound of water on all sides. The light 
from the hatch was cut off and they heard the latter 
clanging shut. A man hurried into the compart- 
ment, climbed the ladder beneath the hatch and se- 
cured it with bolts. The rushing of water continued 
for a full two minutes and then stopped, and in the 
ensuing stillness they heard low voices of command 
from the central station. What the words were 
were beyond them, but the result was soon percept- 
ible, for there came, instead of the noisy clatter of 
the oil engines, the low purr of the motors, the for- 
ward end of the submarine tilted downwards, pro- 
ducing a disconcerting effect on the boys’ stomachs, 
lights sprang into brilliancy up and down the com- 
partment and they knew that the U-H-37 was sub- 
merging. Somewhere at hand an electric gong rang 
loudly. Mutters came from the depths of light- 
flooded bunks and, one by one, five occupants 
crawled forth. 


83 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ We’re diving,” murmured Pete in an awed 
voice. “ I never thought I’d be scootin’ around un- 
der the ocean, Kid. Say, supposin’ they couldn’t get 
the blamed thing up again ! ” 

The newly awakened sailors, a weary-eyed, list- 
less looking lot, viewed the boys with a mild curi- 
osity that had changed to indifference by the time 
they had donned their sea boots and shuffled out. 
The submarine was on an even keel now and, save 
for a slight sidewise motion, they could not have 
told whether it was going ahead, astern, or lying 
still. But the swing and the hum of the motors sug- 
gested progress. Pete’s countenance bore an un- 
easy look and he viewed the moist walls with a 
striking absence of enthusiasm. 

“ I didn’t count on this sort o’ thing when I en- 
listed,” he demurred. “ Do you guess that captain 
knows what’s he up to? ” 

“ Or down to? ” suggested Dave. “ I guess he’s 
done this before, Pete. Do you suppose we’re just 
under the surface, or way down ? ” 

“ Way down, because she was slanted a long 
time. Say, it’s sort o’ wonderful, ain’t it? ” Pete 
grew more reconciled as nothing alarming followed 
the plunge. “ Think of sailin’ along under the 
84 


UNDER THE SEA 


ocean like this, with electric lights an’ beds — sort 
o’ — an’, I hope, food ! You got to hand it to ’em, 
Dave, these Germans. They’re cute, all right ! ” 

“We invented submarines ourselves,” Dave pro- 
tested, patriotically. 

“ Sure, I know that. An’ maybe that guy Na- 
poleon invented war, but the Germans improved a 
lot on it, Kid! I guess the trouble with us fellers 
is that just as soon as we’ve gone an’ invented a 
thing we lose interest in it, an’ some other guy has to 
take a hold and fix it up shipshape an’ proper. Look 
at the flyin’ machine. We invented that, too, didn’t 
we? Well, they tell me that all the flyin’ machines 
we’ve got you could put in your eye.” 

“ But we’re building a lot of them.” 

“ Yeah, an’ submarines, too. That’s where the 
Huns have the edge on us, see ? They ain’t buildin’ ; 
they’ve built ! ” 

Presently another man crawled out of a bunk 
at the galley end of the quarters, yawned, and busied 
himself about the stove and food lockers. If he 
saw the prisoners he paid them no attention. Pres- 
ently he donned a dirty white jacket that covered 
him to the knees, and began the preparation of the 
midday meal. Pete sniffed approvingly as the odor 

85 


.UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


of cooking began to permeate the already none too 
fresh air of the compartment. 

“ Wonder will it be beef steak ?” he said. 
“ What’s it smell like to you, Kid ? ” 

“ Something horribly German,” replied Dave, dis- 
gustedly. “ Maybe some of their beastly sausages.” 

But it proved later to be neither beefsteak nor 
sausage, but a thin, watery stew that held many 
half-cooked vegetables and little meat. With it 
there was plenty of grayish bread and some greasy 
substance that was used as butter, but that had cer- 
tainly never seen a cow. There was coffee, too, 
and, as dessert, dried pears stewed in molasses. 
Dinner was consumed by the crew in relays. The 
warrant and petty officers ate first and then the men. 
No one sat down to the table, although some perched 
themselves on the edges of the nearby bunks. 
There was little conversation. The men ate me- 
thodically and without apparent enjoyment, drink- 
ing cup after cup of the over-sweet coffee, now 
heated to boiling temperature. The air in the quar- 
ters was hot and stagnant and filled with all the 
odors of the boat and of the cooking. 

As none offered food to Dave and Pete, they pres- 
ently helped themselves from the bowls on the table 
86 


UNDER THE SEA 


and presented their cups to the silent, phlegmatic 
cook for coffee. One or two of the sailors tried 
to talk to them in German, but soon desisted when 
Pete replied in English. There were black looks 
from some, but for the most part petty officers and 
men seemed absolutely indifferent to the boys’ pres- 
ence there. Perhaps, thought Dave, prisoners were 
frequent aboard the U-H-37! 

The afternoon passed slowly. The promised 
work didn’t materialize. Dave amused himself try- 
ing to read a German magazine that he found under 
a bunk, but what little he had learned of the lan- 
guage was not equal to the task. Pete whistled or 
hummed and frequently expressed a longing for 
chewing gum. Once the torpedo crew w'ent for- 
ward and busied themselves mysteriously, but noth- 
ing interesting followed, and after an hour or so 
they returned, muttering gutturally as they passed. 
They didn’t see the English speaking man again un- 
til supper time, and then not to talk with. After 
washing his pots and pans the cook crawled back 
into his bunk and was seen no more until just 
before the evening meal. Pete said he guessed that 
if he had to be on a submarine, he’d prefer to be 
the cook. Once or twice water gurgled and rushed 

87 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


through the pipes and the submarine tilted her nose 
up or down, but she didn’t get back to the surface. 
Dave had removed his watch from a trousers pocket 
before relinquishing his own togs, and now he man- 
aged to get it going again, setting it by guess work. 
It was a long, dull afternoon, unbroken by any in- 
cident of interest. Men crawled in and out of 
bunks, snored or read papers, made periodical trips 
to the coffee tank and paid no more attention to the 
prisoners than to so many flies. 

Supper was worse than dinner because there was 
less of it. The atmosphere got staler and heavier 
with every passing hour, and Dave found that he 
could hardly keep his eyes open after he had con- 
sumed a small portion of tasteless canned meat. 
Even the coffee he drank failed to exert the usual 
wakeful effect, and after being banished from the 
bunk they had perched themselves on by the scowl- 
ing owner of it, they climbed to their own dirty 
mattresses and stretched out. Dave stared a while 
at the white arch of steel above him, with its cluster 
of white pipes and yellow stains and trickling drops 
of water, and tried to realize the strangeness of his 
circumstances, but his eyes were too heavy to stay 
open and his brain too sleep-drugged to work, 
88 


UNDER THE SEA 

and in a very few minutes he was sound asleep.. 

It seemed but a few minutes later, although it 
was in reality many hours instead, when he was 
awakened by the tocsin-like alarm gong. Up and 
down the long compartment, bunks were emptying. 
Hurrying feet echoed in the passage. He caught 
the word “ torpedo ” among others. Another bell 
rang, this time farther away, and with a tinkling 
sound. The junior officer, whom Dave had not seen 
since they had boarded the submarine, passed on 
his way to the forward torpedo compartment. 
From that mysterious chamber came strange sounds,, 
the rushing of water in tanks, the sounding of grat- 
ing metal, the rolling of heavy wheels, sharp words, 
of command. He scrambled from his bunk and 
climbed to where he could awaken Pete. But Pete 
was already awake. 

“ What’s the silly row?” he demanded, blink- 
ing. 

“ I don’t know for certain,” answered Dave, ex- 
citedly, “ but I think they’re going to make an at- 
tack!” 

“ Who is? ” asked Pete, dazedly. 

“Why — why, the Germans ! ” 

Pete threw his legs over the side and searched; 

89 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


for his boots. “ Are, eh? Well, this is no place 
for your Uncle Pete, Kid ! Gangway ! ” He 
landed on the floor with a thud. “If one of our 
chasers gets to droppin’ depth charges around I want 
to be where I can run ! ” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE ESCAPE 

“ Do you suppose it’s one of our ships ? ” asked 
Dave, anxiously. 

“ You can bet it ain't one o' their own, anyway. 
Gee! I wish we could rock the boat, or somethin', 
so they'd miss their shot! We're slowing down.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ I don’t know, but I sort o' feel it, just as I 
sort o’ feel that we're running just under, with the 
periscopes stickin’ out. Listen, Kid ! ” 

The boat was strangely silent, for the motors were 
purring more softly and, with every man at his 
station, there were no footfalls echoing against the 
steel walls. Occasionally a short command came 
from the central station and now and then a click 
or the burr of sliding metal reached them. Silence 
and suspense wrapped the gleaming cylinder as it 
went gliding slowly and stealthily through the mid- 
night sea. Dave’s watch, somewhere near correct, 
9i 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


showed the time to be shortly before three. The 
torpedo compartment emitted few sounds. Dave 
pictured the junior officer, finger on button, awaiting 
the command. Then there came a sound from the 
bow like none that Dave had ever heard, a sort of 
“ Gr-r-rh! ” such as a contented tiger might make. 
There was a barely perceptible shock underfoot and 
he knew that the death-dealing missile was on its 
way. 

He waited, staring with wide eyes at Pete, but 
no sound reached them until there was a second 
growl from the torpedo compartment. Then the 
boat awoke to activity. The motors hummed more 
loudly, men hurried through the quarters, the sub- 
marine’s nose tilted slightly upward. The torpedo 
compartment was noisy once more. 

“ Whoever she is,” said Pete glumly “ they got 
her. If they hadn’t they wouldn’t be goin’ up.” 
Dave nodded agreement, and Pete sunk his voice. 
“ Kid,” he whispered, “ are you game to take a 
chance? ” 

“ Do you mean — escape? ” 

“ Sure. If they get busy with that ship we might 
get away without their knowin’ it.” 

“ But where to, Pete ? How ? ” 


92 


THE ESCAPE 


" I don’t know, but I’d a heap rather be floatin* 
around in the ocean than here! If only we had 
those life-vests ! ” 

“ Wonder what they did with them.” 

“ Those these fellows wear are a lot better,” said 
Dave. “ They blow them up. Do you suppose we 
could find a couple ? ” 

“If we knew where to look.” Pete gazed 
around. “ Trouble is they’re all wearin’ ’em. 
Maybe there’s extra ones aboard, though. Where 
would they keep ’em ? ” 

“In the lockers, do you think?” There was a 
row of lockers under the berths on each side, and 
Peter, making certain that no one was approach- 
ing, stooped and pulled one open. But only a litter 
of clothing and boots rewarded him. Footsteps in 
the passage made him close the locker quickly and 
the German who had talked to them in English came 
toward them. For the first time his countenance 
held something approaching a smile. 

d We got her,” he said. “ She’s a big one, too.” 

“What’s her flag?” asked Pete, resisting a de- 
sire to plant his fist in the middle of that smirking 
face. 

“ Italian, I think.” Then his lips closed tightly 

93 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


and he glanced apprehensively behind him. “ May- 
be I should not tell you,” he muttered. 

“ Look here,” said Pete. “ Suppose we get in 
trouble. What are we goin’ to do, this feller an’ 
me? Drown, eh? Can't you find us a couple of 
those life preserver things like you got on? ” 

“ There will be no trouble. The ship is already 
sinking and they are getting into the boats.” 

“ Yeah. But suppose a destroyer walks in on 
us? It’s a fine note for all you guys to have life- 
vests an’ leave us to sink! What would we do if 
we was attacked, eh? ” 

Dave always maintained that the sailor suspected 
their purpose and was not unwilling to aid them. 
At all events, after a moment of hesitation he an- 
swered: “All right. I’ll see if I can get some.” 

He went aft and disappeared beyond the bulk- 
head. By now the submarine was rolling from side 
to side and pitching slightly, and it was evident to 
the boys that she was on the surface. In a minute 
the sailor was back with the desired life-vests. He 
handed them over with an air of secrecy. They 
were, unlike the bulky, cork-filled canvas life-belts 
of the United States navy, garments of some finely- 
woven, waterproof material that fitted about the up- 
94 


THE ESCAPE 


per body beneath the arms and were held in place 
by one strap and a buckle which could be quickly 
adjusted and secured. A mouthpiece at the front 
was easily reached for inflation. Having put them 
on, the men blew them up sufficiently to secure buoy- 
ancy in the water but not enough to make them 
cumbersome or to hinder them at their work. Once 
in the water, it was possible to increase the inflation 
as desired. Having delivered the life-vests, the 
German hurried off again, and Dave and Pete 
quickly slipped them on. 

“ That’s better,” muttered Pete. “ I ain’t much 
of a swimmer, an’ I feel a heap safer if I got one 
o’ these things on. Now let’s see how the land 
lays.” 

They walked back to the central station. Two 
sailors were standing idly there, and they viewed 
the prisoners with scowling suspicion. Pete drew 
back. “ That won’t do,” he said, as they returned. 
** If this hatch here was opened we might have a 
chance.” 

“ But they’ll see us,” objected Dave, viewing the 
hatch somewhat dubiously. 

“ Sure, but if it’s dark maybe they won’t notice 
us much. We’ve got the same togs as the rest 
95 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


of these Huns. Anyway, we can’t get away as long 
as we stay down here, that’s sure, ain’t it? ” 

Dave acknowledged that it was, and for a minute 
or two they studied their predicament in silence. 
They were still short of a solution when a sailor 
entered and started up the hatch ladder. Pete 
nudged Dave, and they watched tensely. The sailor 
began turning the screws that held the clamps. 
Then he descended the ladder, said something in 
German that, whatever it was, sounded good-na- 
tured, and disappeared again. Pete started for- 
ward, but Dave held him back. 

“ Wait a minute,” he said. Maybe they’ll open 
it from above.” 

They did. The round cover creaked back, and 
they looked up against a blue, moon-lighted sky. 
From the deck came the trampling of feet and the 
murmur of voices. Pete led the way up the ladder, 
Dave close behind. Gusts of cool, fresh air met 
them. Then Pete’s head was through and he looked 
warily about him. Most of the crew were on deck. 
The forward gun had been raised from its housing. 
Some two hundred yards distant, right in the path 
of the moonlight, lay a great black hulk on which a 
few lights shone dimly. Pete nonchalantly stepped 
96 


THE ESCAPE 


through the hatch and Dave, his heart beating hard, 
followed. No one paid them any heed. About 
them on the narrow deck, the crew stood and gazed 
at the disabled ship, which, even in the uncertain 
light of the descending moon, showed herself to be 
sinking. There was a distinct cant from bow to 
stern. As the boys looked, a smaller object crossed 
the moon’s path, evidently one of the ship’s lifeboats 
drawing away. Suddenly, from the conning tower 
at their backs, a stream of white light shot across 
the ocean and a great round disc of brilliancy passed 
along the sinking steamship from bow to stern, and 
then slowly moved back to a point just aft of amid- 
ships where a gaping hole had been torn in the hull. 
Then the light went out as suddenly as it had ap- 
peared and the boys blinked in the succeeding dark- 
ness. 

“ Come,” whispered Pete, and tugged at Dave’s 
sleeve. 

They pushed their way aft toward the conning 
tower. Once a petty officer peered closely in their 
faces as they passed, but the moonlight was behind 
them and it is doubtful if he recognized them. At 
least, he made no effort to detain them, and they 
went on. In the conning tower, as they knew, stood 
97 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


the commander and the junior officer, but they put 
their heads down and Pete shuffled along as he had 
noticed so many of the crew shuffle, and they 
squirmed their way past the tower to port, on the 
narrow width of deck there, and saw, to their relief, 
that the after part of the boat was deserted, save 
for one dark form near the stern. As they drew 
near to him they saw that he had his back turned. 
Evidently he was a lookout, intent on searching the 
moonlit darkness for such disturbing factors as 
patrol boats. The submarine was still floating 
slowly toward the torpedoed ship, her propellers 
turning lazily under the stern overhang. The after 
gun had not been raised and the deck was clear, 
but just beyond where they paused for an instant 
in the shadow of the tower to kick off their boots 
a gleam of light was thrown upward through the 
after hatch. As they skirted the opening they 
peered down into a maze of engines and got a flare 
of hot, oily air in their faces. For some reason 
the U-H-37 was still operating with her motors. 

In the gloom of the conning tower Pete had whis- 
pered: “If he makes any trouble, kid, leave him 
to me,” and now, as they went quietly aft, Dave was 
hoping that the lookout would not see them. Two- 
98 


THE ESCAPE 

thirds of the way from tower to stern the deck be- 
gan to slope. Just short of the cigar shaped stern a 
small platform arose above the grade, and beyond it 
was what looked to be an auxiliary rudder. It was 
on the small platform that the motionless lookout 
was standing and it was beyond him that Pete in- 
tended to take to the water, since there the deck was 
but a scant foot above it and it might be possible for 
them to slide off without being heard. But to pass 
the lookout without being seen was, of course, im- 
possible, and Dave wished that Pete would risk a 
splash rather than an alarm from the sailor. But 
that wasn’t Pete’s plan. 

He led the way straight to the platform. When 
they were a few feet distant the lookout turned 
slowly, observed them and again turned away. But 
as they still approached he became curious and once 
more faced them. 

“ Was is? 99 he growled. 

Pete replied with about all the German he knew. 

“ Heraus mit! 99 said Pete. 

Then his fist shot out and up, there was a faint 
grunt from the lookout and he dropped to the curv- 
ing side of the hull and rolled, like a log, into the 
sea. 

99 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

“ Beat it ! ” warned Pete. He threw himself 
down, grasped a protruding ring bolt and slid into 
the water. Dave was only the fraction of a second 
behind. The water was so cold that it took his 
breath away for a moment. Then he heard Pete’s 
voice again. “ This way, Kid ! Straight back ! ” 
Dave followed. The life-vest held him up wonder- 
fully and yet left his arms free for swimming. He 
pulled even with Pete without difficulty, and side by 
side they put the yards between them and the sub- 
marine. Not a sound had so far come from the 
lookout, but now, behind them there arose a sudden 
commotion in the water and a wild shout of alarm. 
“ Swim hard,” panted Pete. “If they come back 
for that guy they’ll get us sure ! ” 

The sea was calm, with small, choppy waves that 
splashed their faces. Dave was horribly conscious 
of the moonlight about him and he imagined that 
from the submarine he and Pete must stand out so 
conspicuously that those aboard could not fail to see 
them. But the submarine was attending to other 
matters and had already drawn well away. The 
lookout continued to cry for help, but when Dave 
turned to look the U-boat still had her stern toward 
them and was apparently not troubling about him. 


ioo 


THE ESCAPE 


Probably, as they decided afterwards, the officers 
thought the lookout had tumbled overboard and 
that it would serve him right for his clumsiness to 
let him float around awhile. There was no danger 
of his drowning so long as he had his life-vest in- 
flated. 

They swam on and on, as straight away from the 
submarine and her sinking prey as they could direct 
their strokes, but it wasn’t long before it became 
evident to Dave that Pete was tiring. “ I’m — all 
in,” panted the latter presently. “ Maybe you’d 
better go ahead, Kid. No use in their getting both 
of us. Pm a punk swimmer, anyway.” 

“ Let’s rest awhile,” answered Dave. “ Pm tired 
too.” That wasn’t very truthful, for Dave had 
swam from the time he was old enough to enter the 
water and was not so easily exhausted. “If they 
decide to come back and look for us, they’ll get us 
anyway. All they’ve got to do is throw that search- 
light around.” 

“ All right,” agreed Pete. “ We’ll float for a 
few minutes. Swimmin’ gets my wind somethin’ 
fierce!” 

They let themselves go, just paddling enough to 
keep their heads up. The steamship was no longer 
IOI 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


in the path of the moonlight, and at first they 
couldn’t locate her. Then, however, they did, and 
saw that she had tilted one end well out of water. 
A single dim light still showed. The submarine 
was not discernible, probably being lost in the 
shadow of the larger craft. Once Dave thought he 
heard the rattle of oars, but when he told Pete, and 
they both listened hard, no sound reached them save 
the splash of the waves. 

“ It’ll be daylight in an hour or so, I guess,” said 
Pete after a short silence. “ We’d better get at it 
again, Kid. Come on.” 

“Which way shall we go?” asked Dave. “If 
we knew where the life-boats were — ” 

“ Yeah, but we don’t. Best we can do is to get 
as far away as possible. When daylight comes 
maybe we’ll see something. Say, an ocean’s a 
mighty big body o’ water, ain’t it? Are you wishin’ 
you was back on the sub, Kid ? ” 

“ No, I’m not,” answered Dave decisively. 
“ We’re better off here. These life-vests will keep 
us afloat for days, I guess, and we’re certain to be 
seen by some sort of a ship before long. Spending 
the next year or so in a German prison camp didn’t 
appeal to me a bit, Pete.” 


102 


THE ESCAPE 


“ Same here. This is a big chance we’ve taken, 
an’ maybe I was a mut to get you into it, Kid, but 
as for myself, why, I’m satisfied so far. This water 
ain’t feelin’ so cold as it did, an’ if only I was a 
decent swimmer I’d have no kick. If I give out, 
Kid, you beat it along.” 

“ Yes, I’m likely to,” said Dave. “ Which direc- 
tion is east, Pete ? ” 

“ Must be opposite where the moon is goin’ down, 
or nearly. More that way, I guess. Think we’d 
better set our course east ? ” 

“ Well, that’s where the nearest land is, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ Sure, unless we’re a lot closer to Ireland than 
we know of. All right, Kid, let her go ! I’m feel- 
in’ fine now.” 

Keeping the moon, now well down toward the 
horizon, over their left shoulders, they struck out 
again, two tiny wisps in a wide, darkening world of 
water. 


CHAPTER X 


DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 

Time passed. They rested at intervals and, hav- 
ing rested, swam again. Gradually the fear of re- 
capture passed. The moon was gone and the limit- 
less expanse of ocean was dark and submarine 
and prey were swallowed in the gloom. They talked 
infrequently, conserving their breath for the strug- 
gle for life. Always they listened for the sound of 
oars and peered into the gray darkness with strain- 
ing eyes. The small boats from the steamship must 
be within a few miles, they argued, and they longed 
for daylight. Gradually the eastern sky paled, then 
flushed with rose and the sea became dimly visible 
in that direction. They swam straight for the com- 
ing day, not hurriedly, but with slow, even strokes 
that required a minimum of exertion. Pete had 
got his second wind or had discovered a less ex- 
hausting way of breathing. Swimming with life- 
vests on was more difficult than had at first ap- 
peared, for the garments had a tendency to float 
104 


DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 


them too high in the water. Dave let some of the 
air from his, but it didn’t help much. As the sea 
and sky lightened they searched anxiously for boats, 
but, although now and then the crest of a distant 
wave, darker than others, set their hearts leaping, 
they saw none. Daylight came fast, having once 
announced itself. The western rim of the ocean 
faded from darkness to dusk, from dusk to pearly 
gray. In the east the tender tint of rose changed to 
yellow and, like a miracle, it was day! The orange 
rim of the sun pushed itself above the horizon’s, 
curve and dyed the tips of the little waves with 
strange metallic colors. A tern cried overhead and 
swooped downward to splash against the water and 
go beating up again, having found its breakfast. 
But save for the bird, daylight came up over an 
empty world. 

“ Those boats must have gone in the other direc- 
tion,” said Dave, as they rested again, with the pale 
sunlight dazzling their eyes with its long beams. 
“ But I don’t see why, Pete. The nearest land 
must be the French coast, and that’s eastward.” 

“ Maybe the Huns sunk the lot of ’em,” replied 
the other grimly. “ That’s a favorite trick of. 
theirs.” 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ But wed have heard the guns,’’ objected Dave. 
Pete nodded. 

“ Yeah, that’s so, too. Well, I don’t know much 
about this part o’ the world, Kid. Ain’t there any- 
thin’ but France lyin’ around here? ” 

“ It depends on where we are, of course. I fig- 
ure that we must be somewhere west of France and 
south of Ireland. Maybe we’re making a mistake 
in swimming east, Pete. Maybe we ought to go 
north. If we’re nearer Ireland — ” 

“ I guess it don’t cut much ice which way we 
swim,” said Pete. “ The best we can do is keep 
afloat. How you feelin’?” 

Dave considered a moment. Then : “ I’m 

tired,” he answered. “ But I guess I’m good for 
another hour or two’s swimming.” 

“ I’m not. Besides, what good’s it going to do 
us, Kid? We’re just as likely to get picked up here 
as two miles away. Best thing for us is to take 
it easy and not get all tuckered. I’m beginnin’ to 
think we’d ought to have stayed where we was, Kid. 
It don’t look good to me.” 

Dave said nothing. It didn’t look good to him, 
either. It would have been very easy for him to 
have given way to panic just then. But he took 
106 


DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 

a grip on himself and once more raised himself from 
the water and stared in all directions over the glint- 
ing waves. Something that was surely not a green 
crest caught his attention. It looked to be the bet- 
ter part of a mile away, and, having found it, he 
straightway lost it again between the waves. It was 
fully a minute before it came into sight a second time, 
and he saw r that it was, if not actually a boat, at least 
some floating object that promised aid. They made 
toward it' with weary muscles. It appeared to be 
drifting slowly southward, and presently they had 
to alter their course in accordance. Gradually it 
became clearer, and they could determine that it was 
not a boat, since it lay too low in the water. It 
seemed hours before they at length reached it. 
When they did it resolved itself into a hatch cover 
some eight feet long by six wide. It was painted 
buff and had a figure 3 in one corner in black. It 
was several minutes before Dave was able to pull 
himself over the edge and lie sprawling on the 
curved surface. Then he reached a hand to Pete, 
and the latter squirmed, panting hard, out of the 
water. They stretched themselves face down on the 
wet surface and lay there silent and motionless for 
a long time. The hatch made an unquiet raft, for 
107 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

with their weights on it it lay low in the sea and 
tilted and tossed continually. It was never for an 
instant dry, since the waves washed across it, but 
they had no fault to find with it, you may be cer- 
tain. 

I think each of them drowsed a little, with the 
sunlight warming their chilled bodies, and then Dave 
sat up cautiously and Pete regarded him dazedly for 
a moment and grinned slowly. 

“ Not so worse, Kid ! ” he sighed. “ A little 
damp, but Oh, boy! ” 

“If we could only hoist something, Pete/’ said 
Dave. “ Pm afraid we don’t show up very plain.” 

“ There’s nothin’ to hoist and nothin’ to hoist it 
on. We got to keep our eyes peeled an’ when we see 
a ship we got to stand up, one o’ us, an’ wave a shirt. 
You lie down an’ rest your hands an’ face, Kid, an’ 
I’ll be lookout for awhile.” 

“ No, you’re more tired than I am,” replied Dave. 
“ You go to sleep and I’ll do the ‘ spotting.’ ” 

Pete demurred at first, but finally consented. 
“ If I roll off, Kid,” he muttered, closing tired eyes, 
“fish me out, but don’t wake me, see?” In less 
than a minute he was snoring deeply, sprawled out 
on his back. Dave, swaying with the short toss of 
108 


DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 


the hatch cover, watched for smoke or sail, his own 
eyes threatening to close every moment. The sun 
climbed higher and higher. His watch had stopped 
again at a little after four, and he had to guess at 
the time and guessed half-past eight. A myriad of 
tiny black birds swept overheard, rising and falling, 
and disappeared against the blue of the sky. A 
gray mist hid the horizon now, but there were few 
clouds in sight. After an hour or so Pete awoke of 
his own accord and Dave slept. When he returned 
to consciousness the sun was well overhead. 

“ You know what’s goin’ to get us, Kid,” observed 
Pete, soberly, “ is thirst. I could drink a bucket of 
water this minute and not know I’d had it.” 

“ Shut up,” said Dave. “ I was trying to forget 
it. How long can a fellow go without water, 
Pete?” 

“ I don’t know. Seven days, is it? No, that’s a 
camel. Wish I was one o’ ’em ! It’s gettin’ mighty 
hot, too, Kid. That don’t help much, take it from 
Pete!” 

Talk lapsed. Thirst increased as the sun beat 
more hotly upon them. What breeze there was 
came from the southeast, and was too faint to afford 
much relief. They took turns at lying face-down- 
109 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


wards to relieve their eyes from the incessant glare 
and glitter of the dancing waves. The afternoon, 
between two and four, was more intolerable than 
the morning hours. They laved their heads and 
faces with salt water at intervals, or held their 
wrists under. There was no sleepiness now ; only a 
languor that made movement, or even conversation, 
distasteful. After a long, long while their shadows 
began to lengthen across the raft and the breeze 
strengthened. Their mouths were dry and salty, 
and talking, when they felt any inclination toward it, 
was difficult. Peter said his tongue was getting too 
big for his mouth. 

They searched the horizon continually, but with- 
out result. Once a faint smudge of something that 
might possibly have been smoke showed against the 
haze to the west, but it was gone almost before Pete 
had drawn Dave’s attention to it. Shortly before 
sunset the breeze dwindled again to a mere breath. 
They experienced no hunger, but had queer, sharp 
pains inside them. They were beginning to lose 
hope of rescue now, although neither said so. 
About eight o’clock Pete dozed off, and Dave, feel- 
ing very lonely and despondent, sat and watched the 
shadows grow in the hollows of the waves. The 


no 


DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 


change from the extreme heat of the sun to the 
chill of evening made him shiver in his damp clothes. 
He lay down to escape what breeze was stirring and 
the water that washed over the curving surface of 
the hatch seemed warm in comparison. He closed 
his eyes for an instant and must have slept, for 
when he awoke, startledly, the daylight had almost 
gone. Pete was leaning above him and shaking 
him hard. 

“Wake up, Kid! We’re all right! See who’s 
here ! ” 

Pete’s words were thick and difficult to make out, 
but the tone of them told enough to make Dave 
sit up quickly and peer about him in the gray twi- 
light. Black against the lingering radiance of the 
western sky, so close that he could hear voices on 
deck, floated a long, slim destroyer, while, halving 
the distance, was a small boat, heading straight to- 
ward them. 

Dave tried to speak, but for a moment his swollen 
tongue and dry lips made no sound. When he did 
make himself heard his voice was only a mumble. 

“ Is she — German ? ” he managed to ask. 

“ German ! ” babbled Pete, thickly. “ No, sir, 
she’s good old U. S. A., Kid ! And,” he added with 


hi 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

an attempted laugh that sounded like a croak of a 
raven, “ we’re back home ! ” 

“Back home?” repeated Dave, confusedly. 
“Sure! A United States deck’s United States 
territory, ain’t it? And, listen, Kid, there’s water 
over there ! Fine, wet water ! Oh, boy ! ” 

Ten minutes later their troubles were over. They 
were heaped under blankets in two narrow bunks 
and their parched throats had known the blessed 
joy of a few sips of water. A young medical officer 
with an ensign’s grade was in stern authority. 

“ You can have more presently,” he said. “ Keep 
those blankets up to your chin, you freckled face 
fellow! What’s that? Food? Oho, I guess 
there’s not much the matter with you, then! Yes, 
you’ll get some broth after a while. Now just stow 
the talk and keep quiet.” 

They must have obeyed, for when Dave opened 
his eyes again the destroyer’s engines were clatter- 
ing and thumping busily and the ship was swaying 
at a fine rate. Some one was playing on an accor- 
dion further along the deck, and Dave, smiling con- 
tentedly, murmured the words to the merry tune: 
“ Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go 
from here?” Then: 


1 12 


DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 


“ Pete ! ” he called above the clamor of the engines 
and the creaking of the hull. 

“ Hello? ” 

“ Awake ? ” 

“ Sure! ” 

“ How are you feeling? ” 

“ Dry ! Hungry, too ! I c^uld eat a raw dog ! ” 

“ So could I,” answered Dave, and was quite con- 
vinced that he meant it. “ What time is it, do you 
think?” 

“ Search me! And I don’t care. But if some 
guy don’t fetch me somethin’ — ” 

“ Pour this into your lockers,” said a voice. It 
was the medical officer again, and with him was a 
man in a soiled white jacket who balanced bowls of 
steaming broth. They ate ravenously — or drank, 
if you prefer — and then were allowed nearly a half 
cup of water apiece. And after that Pete found his 
voice again. 

“ Gee, but that was great, sir ! ” he said. “ Do I 
get any more ? ” 

“ Yes, in the morning,” answered the ensign, 
dryly. “ And in the morning you can tell me how 
you came to be floating around the sea on a hatch 
cover, wearing German uniforms! ” 

1 13 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ Easy, sir ! I’ll tell you all about it now,” 

“ No, you’ll go to sleep,” laughed the doctor. 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Pete very obediently. 
“ But will you tell me what ship this is that we’re 
on, please? ” 

“ This is the Lot hr op. Where did you drop over 
from?” 

“ We was on Chaser 944, sir, an’ — ” 

“The 944 ?” exclaimed the ensign. “Why, we 
convoyed her into Queenstown day before yester- 
day. She’d been in a scrap with a Hun, she re- 
ported, and was a bit knocked about. Lost her 
after-house and had a hole knocked in her side. 
Well, we’ll put you back on her in the morning, for 
we’re making Queenstown now. We’ve just picked 
up Fastness Light. Now you’d better go to sleep, 
the two of you. Good night, boys.” 

“ Good night, sir, and thank you ! ” 

Presently : “ Did you hear that, Dave ? ” asked 

Pete. 

But there was no answer from the bunk above. 
Pete chuckled to himself. “ The Kid’s asleep,” he 
muttered. “ Won’t he be surprised when he wakes 
up an’ sees the little old 944 lyin’ alongside ? Some 
boat, the little old 944, take it from Pete! Some 


DAVE FALLS ASLEEP 


Kid, too. Plucky little guy. Him an’ me showed 
the Huns a trick, didn’t we, Petey? Huh? An’ 
we got a lot more tricks, too, ain’t we ? Sure . . . 
we . . . have! Lots . . . more . . .” 

Then there was silence in the lower bunk. 



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PART II 


SWEEPING THE SEAS 









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CHAPTER I 


ON PATROL 

The next day Dave and Pete were back on the 
“ little old 944 ” a 944 much the worse for wear, but 
displaying an air of consequence perhaps allowable 
in one who had in a mere handful of days braved 
destruction by the elements and survived two U- 
boat attacks. Only a few timbers indicated the 
former position of her after-house, the bow gun 
had been wrecked, there was a first-aid patch aft 
her beam on the starboard side, and one of the two 
small boats resembled a sieve more than anything 
else. There were lesser souvenirs of the engage- 
ments, besides, in the shape of broken railing, 
chipped woodwork, and a dented funnel. 

There had been six casualties, the boys learned, 
exclusive of Dave, whose wound in the arm was 
now showing an intention to heal. Stearns was 
ashore in hospital with a fractured leg; one of the 
after gun crew, Malloy, was nursing a wound in 
119 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


his thigh from which a nice big piece of shrapnel 
had been excavated. Chuck Morgan was wearing 
a bandaged head, and there had been three minor 
injuries to other members of the crew. The ap- 
pearance of Dave and Pete had created a genuine 
sensation. The Lothrop’s boat had taken them 
across the harbor to where the 944 was lying, await- 
ing her turn in the dock, and they were nearly along- 
side before those aboard the chaser recognized them. 
Then an audience of incredulous Jackies lined the 
rail and stared. Only the presence in the small boat 
of a dignified young ensign deterred them from 
audible comments on the miracle. But when Dave 
and Pete had clambered on deck and the Lo thro p's 
boat had cast off again their shipmates swarmed 
about them and the air was full of questions. Even 
Chuck Morgan, looking, with his bandaged coun- 
tenance, more than ordinarily unamiable, edged to- 
ward the group to listen. 

Things were very confused for a few minutes, for 
half a dozen full-voiced fellows talked at once, but 
Dave gathered that he and Pete had been given up 
for good, and that their names had already been 
sent in as “ missing.” No one, it seemed, had seen 
either of the lads go overboard, and the supposi- 
120 


ON PATROL 


tion was that they had been done for by the ex- 
plosion that had wrecked the after-house. The pos- 
sibility of their having been thrown into the water 
without being killed had been entertained, but no 
one had thought well of their chances of rescue. 
If being thumped on the back and called perfectly 
insulting names in affectionate tones were indica- 
tions of cordiality, then Dave and Pete were surely 
welcome. They broke away as soon as possible 
and reported to Lieutenant Cowan. Their appear- 
ance in the doorway of the little ward room caused 
the lieutenant’s eyes to stand out and left him speech- 
less for the moment. 

“ Come aboard, sir,” said Pete, saluting and grin- 
ning. 

“ Why — why, hang it, you men ; I thought you’d 
gone ! ” exclaimed the luff. “ Where — where’d 
you come from? What happened to you? Come 
inside and tell your story.” 

When they had finished, or, rather, when Dave 
had finished, for Pete left the narrative to him, the 
lieutenant shook his head helplessly. “ It doesn’t 
sound possible, Garson,” he said, “ but if you both 
swear to it, why, I’ll have to believe it. You cer- 
tainly had a run of luck, though! What did you 
121 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


think was going to happen to you when you escaped 
from the sub? Were you intending to swim to the 
Irish coast? ” 

“ I guess we didn’t have any very special plan,” 
acknowledged Dave. “We sort of hoped to get 
picked up by one of the boats from the steamer, but 
we never "saw any of them after we were in the 
water. The main thing, we thought, was to get 
away. We thought they’d probably put us in 
prison and keep us there for the rest of the war.” 

“ That’s what would have happened, of course. 
Thought you’d be of more use somewhere else, eh? 
Well, it was some risk, and you got out of a bad 
place pretty neatly when the Lothrop found you. 
We got a report this morning that two boatloads 
from the Indalia — that’s the freighter they sank — 
were brought into Ventry last evening. About 
forty in all. There’s a third boatful still to hear 
from. Now tell me about that sub. How big do 
you think she was? ” 

The boys answered the lieutenant’s questions for 
a good quarter of an hour before he released them, 
and their replies were jotted down on a sheet of 
paper and ultimately found their way up the hill to 
Admiralty headquarters. They were on their way 


122 


ON PATROL 


out when the lieutenant stopped them. “ By the way, 
Rooney,” he said, “ there’s just one thing more.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“ The next time a man goes overboard and you 
see him, if it’s during action you’re not to go after 
him. That’s not the game, my lad. Drop a life- 
buoy and report ‘ man overboard ’ to the officer of 
the deck, but that’s all. Your duty’s to stick to your 
station. Remember that hereafter. You, too, Gar- 
son. Attempting a rescue is fine, manly stuff, but 
it’s contrary to regulations. You are a necessary 
unit on your ship. When you leave your station 
you are interfering with the successful conduct of 
the ship. In time of action that is ordinarily inex- 
cusable. To put it bluntly, men, it is better to lose 
one man by drowning than to have a second man 
away from his station. If the ship is not in action 
or preparing for action this does not apply. At 
such times the attempt to rescue a companion is per- 
missible and commendable. You are still a new 
man, Rooney, and I shall overlook your — mistake. 
But — another time, remember! That’s all. Oh, 
by the way, get out of those German togs as soon 
as you can and sink them in the harbor! ” 

“ Well, what do you know about that ? ” asked 
123 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Pete when they were out of hearing. “ Called 
down for tryin’ to save another ‘ gob ’ from 
drownin’ ! ” 

“I guess he’s quite right, though,” said Dave. 
“ What happens to one man doesn’t much matter, 
Pete. It’s the ship we’ve got to keep in mind.” 

“Huh! I wonder would he say the same if it 
was him that went overboard ? ” Pete sniffed. 
“ Well, he’s the boss. Let’s get out o’ these dirty 
German uniforms before some one shoots us for 
spies ! ” 

Later they told their story to their shipmates, this 
time Pete rendering the narrative and doing it much 
more picturesquely than Dave could have. The 
story lost nothing in the telling, and there were 
times when Dave had to look away for fear that his 
expression might cause the audience to doubt the 
truthfulness of the yarn. Not that Pete departed 
far from facts, however, for the most that he did 
was embroider his tale, and so make it slightly more 
colorful and absorbing. Perhaps it didn’t matter 
much, in any case, for few of their fellows believed 
more than half of what they were told. 

Dave and Pete remained heroes for several days, 
and Pete was called on so frequently to spin the 
124 


ON PATROL 


story of their capture, imprisonment and escape, 
that ultimately the story resembled the original nar- 
rative only in its underlying structure. On shore 
he was a welcome addition to all gatherings because 
of the yarn he could spin. The 944 went into dock 
two days after they rejoined her, and remained 
there most of a week. Even then she was not ready 
for duty, since a new bow gun was wanting and was 
slow in making its appearance. The Old Man and 
the junior officer growled impatiently, and watched 
with frowning brows the destroyers and chasers 
come and go. But the men, for the most part, were 
well enough satisfied with the entertainment af- 
forded by Queenstown, especially since the “ gobs ” 
from other ships, returning from their six-day pe- 
riods of sea duty, reported a discouraging dearth 
of German submarines. Dave and Pete saw all 
that was to be seen of Queenstown and the nearby 
countryside, read home papers, and wrote letters in 
the Y. M. C. A. hut, witnessed several games of 
baseball — there was keen rivalry between various 
ships for the supremacy of the make-shift diamond 
— and mingled with the men of other ships, British 
and French, as well as American. Queenstown har- 
bor that summer was a busy place, with cruisers, 

125 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


destroyers, sweepers, mine layers, and patrols com- 
ing and going at all hours, and a world of activity 
ashore consequent on turning a sleepy old port, 
rimmed with emerald green hills, into a modern 
naval base. 

Life was not all liberty ashore, however, for the 
944 had to have a new dress when her repairs were 
finished, and Dave learned how to wield a paint 
brush with a fair degree of skill. Finally, one 
showery summer afternoon the 944 snuggled up to a 
quay and a new three-inch gun was lowered aboard 
and secured to the bow platform, and Lieutenant 
Cowan and Ensign Hyatt smiled their satisfaction, 
and the crew, weary by now of the soft ease of life 
in port, smiled also. And the next morning the 944 
weighed anchor and dropped down the harbor, past 
the forts, picked her way daintily through the hid- 
den perils of mine fields and left Roberts Head 
astern. 

The 944 carried two new men, in place of Groom 
and Stearns, and a number of queer looking steel 
cylinders which had been lowered aboard very re- 
spectfully and stored in the after-house. On the 
944 they referred to them as “ ash cans,” which 
they greatly resembled, but they were in reality 
126 


ON PATROL 


depth charges containing some two hundred and 
fifty pounds of the high explosive familiarly known 
as “ T N T ” and cunningly arranged to explode 
under water at a certain depth and calculated to 
vastly incommode a submarine within a given ra- 
dius. These depth charges and a fine array of am- 
munition for the guns made the after-house a most 
undesirable habitation during an action, and it was 
generally agreed by the crew of the after-gun that 
while it might serve well enough as a shelter in time 
of peace, in time of battle it was not likely to prove 
popular. 

The two new members of the crew were both 
“ rubber socks,” which means that they were inex- 
perienced men on their first sea duty. Both, too, 
were reservists, and held seamen’s rating. At that 
time your regular navy man looked down rather 
condescendingly on the naval reservist, to put it 
mildly. Since then the latter has proved himself 
very thoroughly and the regular accords him re- 
spect. But in that first summer of our war with 
Germany members of the naval reserve had a rather 
hard row to hoe, and the new recruits aboard the 
944 , who had journeyed across in the steerage of a 
transport, were no exceptions, although in their 
127 


Under the Yankee ensign 


case their troubles didn’t last long. They were 
both youngsters. Dill, speedily nicknamed “ The 
Pickle,” was short and rotund, with a round, good- 
natured countenance, a hundred and eighty pounds 
of guileless amiability. Carter was taller and far 
from stout, with a long, lean face and a down-east 
drawl. His overshirt sleeves were too short for 
his arms, which gave him an overgrown appearance, 
to which an unusually long neck contributed. 

The 944 was out of sight of land toward evening, 
jumping about in a choppy sea, and Carter was 
groaning unhappily in his upper bunk. Dill was a 
better sailor, however, and took his “ chow ” with 
the rest of his watch. He was inclined to be a lit- 
tle bit too sociable, I think, a little bit too self- 
assured. It was only his way of letting his new 
messmates know that he was ready to be friends, but 
it didn’t make a good impression. He was viewed 
with pitying contempt at first, but as that failed to 
have its effect, Kennedy gave him a hint. 

“ Say, Jack, no offense, but if I was you I’d feed 
my face and not try to lead the conversation.” 

“ Why, I wasn’t,” disclaimed Dill, coloring. 
“ What’s wrong with what I said?” 

“ Nothing, I guess; but why say it? You ama- 
128 


ON PATROL 


teurs are all right, but you want to come in slow; 
see? Don’t rush it. You’re a reservist, ain’t 
you ? ” The other nodded stiffly. “ All right. 
Then when you’ve got anything to say, reserve it. 
Get me? ” 

Dill closed up tight then and looked rather un- 
happy, while the rest of the mess smiled — all, per- 
haps, save Dave, who felt sorry for the new chap. 
He had the enlisted man’s usual contempt for “ ama- 
teur gobs ” as they were called, but he wouldn’t have 
thought of showing it. Besides, there was some- 
thing likable about Dill, and Dave surmised that 
much of his apparent ease of manner was assumed 
to hide a very natural feeling of embarrassment. 
After chow Dave sought him out and proceeded to 
get acquainted. 


CHAPTER II 


THE NEW “GOB” 

At first Dill, still smarting under Kennedy's 
squelching, was suspicious, but presently he thawed 
out and they got on famously. As near as Dave 
could determine from Dill's story, the latter had 
entered the Naval Reserve principally because he 
hadn’t wanted to return to college in the fall. 

“ I didn't do very well last year,” he confided, 
“ and I'd have had to make up to studies if I’d 
gone back. Besides, I’m no ‘ grind,' anyway. 
Haven’t enough brain, I suppose. So when this 
thing broke loose I put it up to my dad. Showed 
him I’d be more use ‘ strafing ’ Germans than fak- 
ing along for a college degree. He said he guessed 
I was right. Said he understood it didn’t take 
much brain to shoot a gun and that I might make 
quite a success of it. Of course, he wanted me to 
enter the army. Was keen on having me go to 
Plattsburg, you know, and learn how to polish a 
sword. But, gee, I’d make a peach of an officer, 
130 


THE NEW “ GOB ” 


wouldn’t I? So I heard about the reserves and 
hiked down to Newport. They gave me the once 
over and said * Come right along in.’ Dad was mad 
at first. Said he didn’t want me to be a common 
sailor, and a lot like that. I told him I guessed I’d 
be a rather uncommon sailor, not knowing whether 
salt water was something to gargle with or to put 
in your eye, and he finally came around. I had 
two months of it at the Newport Station, and it was 
all to the merry. There were some fine lads there. 
Then they shipped a bunch of us to New London, 
where we bunked on a wharf and made steel nets. 
I was there about ten days when they yanked a 
lot of us away and shipped us over here on a trans- 
port. We were told we were to fill vacancies on 
the destroyers, and I was crazy to get on one of ’em, 
but I lost out. Still, this isn’t bad. I dare say that 
I’ll see just as much fun on this boat as on a de- 
stroyer, eh?” 

“ I think you may,” agreed Dave. “ Did the 
other chap come over with you ? ” 

“Carter? Yes. I didn’t know him, though. 
Never really noticed the chap until we landed on 
the dock here yesterday. He says he was at the 
station when I was, but I don’t remember him. 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Guess I’ll go and see if I can do anything for him. 
He’s horribly sick, poor fellow.” 

“ m go along,” said Dave. “ Seasickness doesn’t 
seem to bother you much.” 

“Me? No, I’ve never been sick yet I read 
once that you had to have imagination in order to be 
seasick. Don’t know if it’s so, but I never did have 
any imagination and I’ve never been sick ; and there 
you are ! ” 

They found some half dozen men in the fo’c’sle, 
among them Chuck Morgan. One or two were 
reading, but the others were listening to Chuck and 
appeared to be amused at his remarks. As Dave 
and his new acquaintance entered Chuck was hold- 
ing forth as follows : 

“ Yes, sir, there’s nothing better than a fine mess 
of salt pork and greens for seasickness. There’s 
something about ’em that just reaches the spot. 
You take a fine big chunk of pork, good and fat, 
fellers, and you put it in a kettle with some water 
and you let it boil slowly. When there’s about a 
half an inch of grease floating around on top the 
water you put in your greens and you boil the whole 
mess for about two hours. Then you slap a lot of 
the greens on a plate and cut off three or four slices 

13 2 


THE NEW “ GOB ” 


of nice juicy fat pork and you get some one to hold 
your head up for you — ” 

Chuck was interrupted by a heart-rending groan 
from the upper bunk behind him. He grinned 
broadly and winked at the audience. 

“ — And then you take one of those nice fat 
slices of greasy pork,” he continued, “ and sort of 
chew on it — ” 

“ Cut it ! ” Dill pushed his way around the table 
and confronted Chuck with blazing eyes. “ You 
big slab-sided, wall-eyed, knock-kneed giraffe, you! 
You pin-head! You vitrified lump of paleolithic 
pulp! Just open your dirty mouth again, you but- 
ton-eyed Swede, and I’ll bust you square open! 
You’ve got a cheek, anyhow, sitting up and making 
sounds like a man, you lacertilian skunk! You 
ought to be climbing a tree in a glass case, with 
a label on, you stuffed anthropoid ape! What do 
you mean by getting out and running loose ? Back 
to the museum, you ! ” 

Chuck Morgan’s face was a study. Blank amaze- 
ment passed into a sort of awe as Dill rained words 
on him without pause. His mouth dropped slowly 
open and he gazed up at the fluent youngster in 
silent, fascinated bewilderment, as yet too stupefied 
133 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

to be angry. As Dill ended, more for want of 
breath than lack of words, there was a brief instant 
of silence. Then a veritable howl of laughter arose 
in the fo’c’sle, in which Dave joined. Then Chuck’s 
mouth closed, a flood of red flamed into his lean, 
sallow face, and he jumped to his feet, overturning 
the bench. 

“ Who you calling an ape ? ” he demanded. He 
towered over Dill by six inches, but the recruit held 
his ground, paying no heed to the big, clenched 
hand that Chuck swung back menacingly. 

“ You, you arboreal quadrumane ! And I’m pay- 
ing you a compliment, too ! Put that arm down or 
I’ll break it! You can’t scare me, you apotheosized 
protoplasm! You know what you are? Well, 
you’re a newt, a plain, ordinary newt! You’re not 
even a gecko ! Just a newt ! ” 

That was too much for Chuck. With a roar of 
rage he flung himself on Dill. “ Newt, am I? ” he 
shrieked. “ I’ll show you — ” 

What happened next was as extraordinary as it 
was unexpected. Chuck went backward over the 
overturned bench and landed with a shock that for 
the moment deprived him of the powers of speech 
or action. Dill jumped nimbly after and shook a 
134 


THE NEW “ GOB ” 


stern finger above his prostrate foe. “ Yes, sir, a 
newt ! ” he declared triumphantly. “ An aquatic- 
tailed, amphibian newt! And don’t you deny it! 
Don’t you open your mouth to deny it ! Don’t even 
think of it! You’re a common garden newt, always 
was, and always will be! Just newt! That’s you, 
just newt! ” 

The onlookers were holding their sides now, and 
the little fo’c’sle was noisy with laughter as Chuck, 
visibly shaken and perplexed by what had happened 
to him, slowly climbed to his feet and subsided on 
the edge of a bunk. He stared gloweringly at Dill, 
but there was profound respect in his gaze. Then, 
sensing the ridicule in the laughter, he snarled at 
the others : 

“ Oh, shut up,” he growled. “ I’ll fix this kid 
all right, and I’ll fix you guys if you laugh at me! 
He’s crazy, he is ! ” He observed Dill again, won- 
deringly. “ He — he don’t talk sense ! But I’ll 
get him, see if I don’t!” Chuck arose stiffly and 
made his way around the further side of the table, 
his eyes furtively watching Dill. “ No one can call 
me a newt and get away with it ! ” 

“ Don’t you dare say you aren’t ! ” thundered the 
youngster, shaking a finger across the fo’c’sle. 
135 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


4t Can you look me in the eye and deny it? You 
can’t do it! You’ve got every mark of a newt l 
Look at those ears ! Look at that nose ! ” Dill’s 
voice arose triumphantly. “ Look at those feet t 
Newt’s feet! Newt’s feet, by jiminy! ” 

“ Aw, shut up, you — you — ” Chuck’s voice 
positively wailed, but the right epithet failed him 
and he launched himself up the companion-way with 
incoherent sounds of rage. A broad smile envel- 
oped Dill’s round countenance and he chuckled. 
Briggs, rubbing a sleeve across his streaming eyes, 
said chokingly: “ Jack, you’re all right! After 
this you talk all you want to, ’cause you’ve certainly 
got the knack of it ! I wouldn’t have missed 
Chuck’s face for a million dollars ! ” 

“ Yes, but say, kid, what did you do to him ? ” 
asked another. “ You didn’t hit him, did you? ” 

" No, I just gave him a leg,” replied Dill, mod- 
estly. “ I used to wrestle a bit in college.” 

After that night The Pickle had no more 
troubles. And, since he let it be understood that 
Carter was a particular crony of his, no more did 
the second new member of the 944’s crew. Carter 
recovered from his illness the next day and, while 
he still looked extremely pale and shuddered at 
136 


THE NEW- “ GOB ” 


sight of the morning beans and bacon, was able to 
go on duty. Chuck Morgan let The Pickle severely 
alone, but he was frequently seen observing the 
youngster surreptitiously in a puzzled way that 
showed he had not lost interest in him. No one 
aboard took Chuck very seriously, but Kennedy ad- 
vised Dill to keep his eyes open. “ He’s not likely 
to stand up to you, Pickle, but he might drop a 
cartridge box on your foot, or some little joke like 
that. He was asking me yesterday what a newt 
was.” Kennedy chuckled. “ I didn’t tell him be- 
cause I didn’t know. What is it ? ” 

Dill explained and Kennedy looked disappointed. 
“ Is that all ? ” he asked. “ Well, Chuck thinks it’s 
something pretty fierce, I guess. He didn’t seem 
to mind the other things you called him, but ‘ newt 9 
got right under his skin. I saw him looking at his 
feet to-day, too,” laughed Kennedy. 

Dave liked Dill — his whole name it seemed was 
Robert Dunham Dill — and for a day or two Pete 
was strangely taciturn and moody. What his 
trouble was only appeared when he referred to Dill 
contemptuously as “ your friend, the Rah-rah Boy.” 
It dawned on Dave then that Pete was jealous, and 
he set about working him out of it. But Pete was 
137 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


not to be placated at once and it was another day 
or two before he returned to good humor. Even 
then, however, he refused to accept The Pickle on a 
friendly footing, and showed a tendency to pick a 
quarrel with that youth on almost any provocation. 
Matters reached a head on the fourth day of the 
944’s sea duty. 

Dill had several times amused the men by show- 
ing tricks of wrestling. He was very modest of 
his prowess and had to be coaxed a bit before he 
would perform. Then, with one or another of the 
men as adversary, he showed various holds and al- 
ways deposited the opponent neatly on his back on 
the fo’c’sle deck when the time came. On the occa- 
sion mentioned nine or ten of the “ gobs ” were look- 
ing on, amongst them Pete and Dave. Briggs had 
managed to stave off defeat for the better part of 
a minute, but was eventually landed, to the huge de- 
light of the audience. Whereupon Pete pushed 
forward. 

“ Come on, Percy,” he challenged. “ Try me. 
I ain’t no Zbyszko, but I might show you a trick 
at that.” 

Dill viewed Pete doubtfully, aware of the lat- 
ter’s unfriendliness. 


138 


THE NEW “ GOB ” 


“ What’s the matter ?” sneered Pete. “ Ain't 
scared, are you ? ” 

Dill shook his head. “ No, but this is fun, and 
you don’t sound as though you wanted fun.” 

“ Sure, I want fun,” replied Pete, grinning. “ I 
won’t hurt you, son. Come on an’ show me some o* 
them pretty tricks.” 

“ All right,” answered Dill quietly, “ if you in- 
sist.” 

“Yeah, that’s me, Mister Insist,” said Pete flip- 
pantly. “ Everything goes, eh ? ” 

Dill’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “ Just 
as you like. Ready ? ” 

They circled for a moment in the narrow space 
of the fo’c’sle deck, eyeing each other warily. Then 
Pete sprang in and they grappled. The audience 
was quite impartial and for a minute, while the 
two struggled for holds, they applauded first one 
and then the other. Pete was outweighed by The 
Pickle, but he soon showed himself a difficult prob- 
lem for the latter. Twice Dill tried a fall only to 
have Pete squirm free. Then, locked again, heav- 
ing and panting, they struggled without advantage 
to either for a long two minutes. At last, though, 
Dill fairly lifted Pete from his feet, and they crashed 
139 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


together to the deck, Dill on top. But Pete had 
managed to land on one hip, and now, like a human 
eel, he squirmed over on his face in spite of the 
other’s grasp. Twice Dill had him nearly over, but 
each time Pete pried himself back. The third effort 
succeeded, however, and Pete was being remorse- 
lessly flattened, when a shout of protest arose from 
the watchers. 

“ Foul there, Pete ! ” “ Quit gouging ! ” “ Cut 

out the rough stuff ! ” 

But Pete, his right hand in Dill’s face, only 
grinned. Dill strove to pull his head away from the 
Angers that were clutching at eyes and nose, but 
failed. Then : “ Don’t do that,” he panted. 

“Why not?” answered Pete. “You said — 
everything went ! ” 

“ All right ! ” Dill’s response was heard only by 
his antagonist. But the others saw The Pickle 
come nimbly to his knees with arching back. Pete’s 
hold broke. Before he knew what was to happen 
he found himself turned heels-over-head, and he 
came slamming to the deck like a bag of potatoes 
and with a suddenness and force that bewildered him 
for just the fraction of time needed by Dill. Down 
came that youth with all his one hundred and eighty 
140 


THE NEW “ GOB ” 


pounds, and Pete’s body lay flat with the deck, both 
shoulders and hips down. 

A roar of applause greeted the victory, and Dill 
sprang to his feet. The marks of Pete’s fingers 
were still on his face, and unconsciously he put a 
hand up to his nose. But he was smiling quite 
amiably as Pete arose. Knowing Pete’s quick tem- 
per, the audience waited for an outbreak from that 
youth. But Pete only pulled his neckerchief into 
place in silence. 

“Try again?” asked Dill good-humoredly. 

Pete shook his head, while one of his slow grins 
came over his freckled countenance. “ I got 
enough,” he said. “ You win, bo. That was some 
toss, take it from Pete. An’, say, if I hurt your 
face Pm sorry, see ! Where I learned what I know 
about wrestlin’ you can do anything you want to 
short o’ usin’ a knife ! That all right? ” 

“ Sure ! ” agreed Dill. “ It was fair. I agreed 
to it. If you had a bit more weight, friend, you’d 
be a mighty good wrestler.” 

“ Yeah, I’d be a wonder,” agreed Pete. ** But 
some time you got to show me how you flipped me 
over, son. That was too quick for me to take any 
notes ! ” 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ All right/’ laughed Dill. “ Any time you like.” 
“ I guess he ain’t so bad,” announced Pete that 
night to Dave. “ Any guy that can keep his temper 
when he’s bein’ gouged is some lad. An’ he sure is 
some boy at that mat game, take it from Pete! ” 
After that The Pickle became one of them and the 
three hung very close together. Sometimes Carter, 
now known amongst his mates as “ Yank,” made a 
fourth, but Carter never quite fitted into the small 
circle for some reason. Meanwhile I have got far 
ahead of my story, for all this time the 944 has been 
bucking the seas around “ 50-10,” and in the Sum- 
mer of 1917 no patrol could do that for long without 
scaring up some sort of an adventure! 


CHAPTER III 


“ CLEAR FOR ACTION ! ” 

In August, although the United States was send- 
ing across destroyers and chasers as fast as they 
came from the ways or could be made from craft 
taken over from private ownership, the Allied patrol 
fleet in British and French waters was still woefully 
small for the work it had to perform. It was not 
until late in the following winter that it reached pro- 
portions measurable with its task. With several 
thousand square miles of sea to be constantly swept 
for enemy submarines and mines, troopships and 
freighters to be convoyed and a sharp watch kept 
on neutral shipping, the patrol fleet had its hands 
full. As a consequence many tiny boats all too 
frail for the duty imposed on them did heroic work 
that summer all the way from the Shetlands down 
to the Bay of Biscay, and when the history of the 
war is written some of the biggest feats will be 
credited to the smallest craft. 

An area roughly triangular in shape containing 
143 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


approximately 170,000 square miles of sea was the 
territory assigned to the United States flotilla un- 
der Admiral Sims. This area was plotted into 
squares and to each square was allotted one or more 
patrol units whose duty it was to guard the ocean 
contained within its imaginary sides. At the be- 
ginning British and French ships performed fully 
half of the work there, but as the United States in- 
creased her flotilla the Allies withdrew gradually, 
leaving more and more of the sea to the American 
light cruisers, destroyers and chasers. But in mid- 
summer the area assigned to one pair of patrol boats 
was discouragingly large and getting in touch with 
an enemy submarine was more a matter of luck than 
good management. The patrols spent usually six 
days at sea and then returned to port for three. At 
all times when on duty each patrol was under orders 
of the flagship of the division, and only special duty 
put her “ on her own.” 

Find Black Ball Head, on the southwest coast of 
Ireland, on your atlas and follow straight south on 
the line of the tenth degree of longitude for slightly 
over a hundred miles and you will have reached one 
corner of that square of tumbling gray-green water 
assigned to the 944 . A hundred and seventy miles 
144 


“ CLEAR FOR ACTION ! ” 


eastward lie the Scilly Islands; beyond, the entrance 
to the English Channel. Northward, nearing the 
Irish coast, the ocean bottom rises and in those shal- 
low waters an ordinary gale raises a considerable 
rumpus. While there are many days when the 
ocean around “ 50-10 ” is as still and calm as an 
inland lake, there are many, many more when it is 
a tumbling welter in which a small craft pitches and 
tosses all ways at once. 

For three days the 944 encountered a choppy sea, 
with alternate cloud and sunshine and early morning 
mists. Then the wind died and shifted half-way 
around the compass, and a smiling ocean, as blue 
as the Mediterranean and as peaceful as a mill-pond, 
greeted Dave’s waking eyes. Scrubbing deck that 
morning was a delight. The chaser merely cour- 
tesied to the waves, the sunlight danced on the water, 
and the southerly breeze, scarcely more than a 
zephyr, whispered of sunny Spain. Dave, bare of 
foot, with up-rolled trousers and not over-clean dun- 
garee, dropped his bucket over the side and whistled 
gayly as he lifted it, full and splashing, above the 
rail. Being alive on such a morning was a veritable 
adventure of itself. From the galley came the 
heartening odor of coffee, an odor that, somehow, 
145 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


on shipboard will follow a hungry sailor from bil- 
let-head to taffrail and even up to the crow’s nest. 
Cleaning deck didn’t take long on the 944, for 
there wasn’t much of it, and in a short time Dave 
was below doing valiant work with knife and fork. 
For once the mess table was down and usable and 
morning chow was eaten in quite a Christian man- 
ner. One could fill an aluminum cup almost full 
and not lose half the contents between spiggot and 
mouth. Spirits were high this morning and appe- 
tites amazing. 

At seven Dave climbed the shrouds and snuggled 
himself in the gray canvas cylinder above the bridge, 
relieving a hungry lookout to the joy of coffee, ba- 
con and potatoes. In all directions empty sea re- 
warded Dave’s attention. The sun was well above 
the rim of the world and the dancing waves caught 
its rays and flashed them about like so many tiny 
mirrors. Small birds sped close to the laughing 
surface, peep-peeping as they passed, and presently 
three playful dolphins dashed across the bow, bring- 
ing a gasp to Dave’s lips and a spasm to his heart. 
A dolphin appearing so without warning suggests 
just one thing, and Dave’s lips were already 
forming the word “Torpedo! ” when his second 
146 


“ CLEAR FOR ACTION ! ” 


thought whispered “ Dolphin ! ” They kept the 
chaser company for longer than Dave’s trick in the 
cage, cork-screwing along without apparent effort, 
up and down, in and out, keeping their relative 
places as absolutely as though on exhibition drill. 
It may be that dolphins have their troubles in pri- 
vate, but to watch them one would never suspect 
it. No denizen of air or water appears so joyous 
and care-free. 

An hour aloft, during which not so much as a 
distant smoke smudge marred the oyster-gray sky 
above the horizon, and Dave slid down again and 
found Pete and shared a half cake of chocolate 
in the after-house. Then came gun drill and when 
the canvas jacket was once more around Betsy Ann’s 
slender form the forenoon was half gone. Why the 
stern gun was called Betsy Ann no one seemed to 
know any more than why the bow gun was called 
The Colonel. Guns, like dogs, must have their 
names. Later Dave was curled up in the sun perus- 
ing a torn two pages of a month old New York 
newspaper which fluttered gayly in the breeze that 
roamed around the corner of the wheel-house. The 
944 was loafing along at twelve knots and her en- 
gines hardly more than purred through the open 
147 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


hatch. The splash of waves against the slim bow 
was soothing and sleepy. So quiet was the scene 
that when Mallory, radio man, put his head out of 
the tiny hutch and warbled something about his 
little gray home in the west Dave jumped alarm- 
edly. Then Mallory’s song ceased abruptly and his 
shock head disappeared from sight and Dave heard 
the spit-spit-spat of the sparks again. A few sec- 
onds later a slip of paper was borne upward to the 
bridge and the 944 sprang into activity. 

“SO S,” explained Briggs, straight from the 
wardroom. “ American cargo boat fighting off a 
sub over there.” He waved an arm westward. 
“ We’re going to have a look-see, Kid. Down on 
your marrow-bones and pray we get there before the 
fun’s over ! ” 

“ How far away is she ? ” asked Dave eagerly. 

“ A hundred and something. I didn’t get that. 
There she roars ! ” 

Briggs listened approvingly to the increasing hum 
of the engines and cocked an eye funnel-ward. The 
smoke was coming heavier now, blacker and greas- 
ier. The 944 was swinging about and the waves 
were spraying the forward deck. Eighteen knots 
— nineteen knots — and the chaser was off on her 
148 


“ CLEAR FOR ACTION ! ” 


mission of rescue. In the wireless hutch Mallory 
had ticked off an answer : 

“ With you in five hours. Don’t surrender.” 

Twenty minutes later the Agawam spoke again: 
“ Please hurry. Enemy has range. Shells falling 
alongside. Course E N E.” 

“ It’s dollars to collar-studs,” observed Ken- 
nedy fretfully, “ that some one else will get there 
first. Rotten luck, I say, to raise your first sub 
a hundred and fifteen miles away.” 

“ It isn’t our first,” denied Farrel, shellman. 

“ First since we’ve been on patrol, I mean. 
Stands to reason there’s patrols nearer than we are. 
We’ll fetch up a couple of hours too late.” 

“ And a good thing, too,” offered another. “ A 
swell chance we’ve got with these three-inch pistols 
against the five-point-nines the Huns have! They 
can knock us into a cocked hat twenty minutes be- 
fore we get the range.” 

“ Don’t worry,” said Kennedy. “ They don’t all 
have those 15 centimeter guns. Only the big 
* fishes.’ Anyway we can outshoot ’em. Just give 
me a sight of a Fritz and I’ll bet a month’s pay 
that old Betsy Ann’ll have something to say to 
’em!” 


149 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

Mallory’s inquiry, “ What’s the good word ? ”, 
flashed into the air shortly after eight bells, brought 
no answer, and gloom descended on ward room and 
fo’c’sle. There was but one explanation, which was 
that the Agawam had been very thoroughly 
“ strafed ” by the submarine. But there might be 
small boats to seek and, in any case, the 944’ s duty 
was to hike along at her best speed, which was 
twenty-three ordinarily, but to-day, in a calm sea, 
was nearly a mile better. Chow was eaten rather 
perfunctorily and was interrupted with much dis- 
cussion. None of them all was very hopeful. 
All agreed that it was a wild-goose chase they 
were on, with mighty little hope of even glimps- 
ing the goose, and yet, when at shortly after 2 
o’clock the foretop lookout called down : “ Smoke 

dead ahead!” dejection was forgotten. They 
flocked to points of vantage, atop the boats, onto the 
railing, anywhere to lift their vision over the curve 
of the sea. But for long minutes only the man 
in the cage saw what he babbled of. “ Black 
smoke, sir ! ” . . . “ Making east, north-east ! ” . . . 
“ Might be fire, sir! A lot of it! ” The lieutenant 
poised impatient glasses to his eyes and waited. 
Then the cloud became visible from the deck, and — 
150 


“ CLEAR FOR ACTION ! ” 

“ Large steamer, sir, afire for’ard ! ” shouted the 
lookout. 

“ Can you see the enemy? ” called the Old Man. 

“ No, sir, not visible.” Then, after a long min- 
ute: “Enemy spotted, sir! Can see the flash of 
her gun about half a mile south of the steamer.” 

“ Clear for action ! ” called the lieutenant. 

Up rose the fleeing steamer above the horizon, 
smoke clouds pouring back for leagues against the 
sky ; masts, then funnels and, at last, long, dark hull. 
Glasses showed her plainly now. Through the 
brown haze of smoke pinkish flashes showed at 
times. The Agawam was still fighting bravely as 
she fled. Six miles lay between now. The Old 
Man looked despairingly at the telltale trail of smoke 
that flattened out from the 944’s funnel. No hope 
of low visibility with that advertisement above them ! 
Below decks the engines raved and roared and a 
flood of hot, oil-laden air issued gustily from the 
engine room hatch and poisoned the deck. On the 
bridge the officers stood silent, eyes glued to binoc- 
ulars, legs astraddle, one hand on the rail with 
knuckles showing white. Dave, lugging cartridge 
cases back to Betsy Ann, silently prayed for the 
impossible. Kennedy was muttering as he swung 

151 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


the gun around until its length almost paralleled 
the chaser’s rail. The shell was in and the breech 
closed, but the lucky beggars for’ard would get the 
first chance. Four depth charges trudged out on 
the trucks, cards to be left in case the callers arrived 
too late. 

“ Bow gun,” was the call. “ Ready down 
there? ” 

“ Ready, sir!” 

Into the voice tube then : “ After gun. Are you 

ready? ” 

“ Ready, sir! ” 

Silence and suspense. The distance was four 
miles now, but rapidly lessening. The submarine 
was showing flashes as her deck guns spat, the 
steamer fluttering signals and running her best of 
fourteen miles. Brown smoke was oozing from the 
forward hold or thereabouts and writhing back and 
down to hang in long, streaming clouds above the 
sunlit sea. Three miles ! Then two ! And the 
enemy paying as yet no heed to the interloper 
charging straight toward her. And now barely a 
mile intervened. Chaser, steamer and submarine 
made the three points of a triangle. The lookout 
warned : “ They’re sighting on us, sir ! ” Far 

152 


" CLEAR FOR ACTION ! ” 

ahead a column of water splashed in the sun- 
light. 

The Old Man raised his straining hand from the 
rail beside him and lowered his glasses. 

“ Commence firing,” he said. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH 

The Colonel barked and a three-inch shell sped 
across the water to where the U-boat was curving 
the waves from her knife-like bow in stern pursuit 
of the freighter. The shot was far short, though. 
Nor was the shell with which the submarine re- 
turned the compliment any more successful, for it 
struck the water well ahead of the 944 and went 
ricochetting harmlessly past. Then the submarine 
showed her teeth. Around went her stem and she 
swept down toward the chaser, a twelve-foot target 
now instead of a hundred-odd, her one gun firing 
fast as the 944’ s course brought that craft nearly 
broadside on. But that was only for an instant, for 
then the chaser’s helm went over, too, and the boats 
drew near on opposite courses. 

“ Four thousand yards ! ” announced the bridge. 
And then : “ Port your helm ! Port ! Steady ! ” 

Aft, Dave, watching with fast-beating heart, knew 
what the lieutenant had in mind to do, and instinc- 
154 


THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH 


tively his hand went out for something to hold to. 
But, although the maneuver was well planned and 
well timed, the distance was too great, and the U- 
boat slewed around, and the 944, hoping to ram, 
slid harmlessly past. Not harmlessly, either, for 
bow and after gun were busy, and for one short mo- 
ment the target lay before them point-blank. 

There was a rending crash as the Betsy Ann 
scored and the sloping wave-breaker forward of the 
conning tower melted from sight, taking ventilating 
pipe with it. Dave saw one sailor throw his arms in 
air, stagger, fall and roll from sight. A second 
sank to his knees and reached gropingly for the 
deck. Then the conning tower intervened, for the 
U-boat was making away, stern-on, pursued by the 
chaser’s fire. 

“ Got her ! ” Kennedy shouted triumphantly. 
u Got her ! Quick with that shell ! ” 

“ Yeah, but she’s not much hurt,” said Pete. 
“ She’ll go down now, take it from Pete ! What 
did I tell you? ” 

The 944 was turning on her heel in pursuit, 
but the submarine had had enough. She was no 
match for the chaser in speed, even though, as Ger- 
man submarines went, she was small and fast, and 
155 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

she recognized the fact at last. The Colonel was 
spouting the spray around her and there was one 
shot that seemed as if it must have been an under- 
water hit, and then the conning tower lessened in 
height above the waves, the stern lifted and, like a 
gray turtle sliding off a log, the U-boat went under. 
One last shot from The Colonel and the gun fire 
aboard the chaser ceased. But she still had a card 
to play, and at the rail the little crane was already 
swinging its burden outboard. Straight over the 
swirl of the submerging U-boat shot the 944. 
There was a splash as the depth charge struck the 
water. The 944 picked up her skirts and fled, and 
from her wake, a hundred yards astern, a great col- 
umn of green and sudsy water shot twenty feet in 
air, hung an instant and fell in a sunlit cascade of 
foam. Around on her heel again came the chaser. 
Over went a second charge. Again the water col- 
umned upward. Twice more, and then, circling 
slowly, the 944 sought signs of victory. 

Foam and bubbles alone marked the site of the 
explosions, and disappointment was audible along 
the deck. Then one of the men called attention 
to streaks of oil at a little distance, and a cheer 
broke forth. But triumph was short-lived, for the 

156 


Got her ! ” Kennedy shouted triumphantly 







. 




- ■ ' A ’ * •* f 












THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH 


lieutenant called down from the bridge : “ That’s 

only shell * slick,’ boys. She got away.” He 
turned to the engine room telegraph, and the 944 
picked up her feet again and made after the Aga- 
wam, now some two miles distant. 

“ What is shell * slick ’ ? ” asked Dave of Ken- 
nedy. 

“ Oil from the gas of an exploding shell,” was 
the answer. “If it bursts on the water or near it, 
it always leaves an oily smudge. In target practice 
we can generally tell where the shot’s gone by the 
‘ slick.’ I don’t know if these depth bombs would 
send up oil, but I should think they might. Half 
the yarns you hear about subs being destroyed are 
just bunk. There’s some oil floating around on the 
surface, and a lot of bubbles, and the other fellow 
shakes hands with himself and reports that he’s sunk 
a Fritz. Like as not the oil was from his 
own shells and the bubbles are just the bub- 
bles that always rise when anything sinks carrying 
air with it. I used to believe all those yarns, but 
you’ve got to show me more than a smudge of oil 
and a few bubbles now.” 

“ Then you think we missed her, too ? ” asked 
Dave, disappointedly. 


157 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ Don’t think ; I know. But at that, I’ll bet she 
got an awful jar when that TNT went off down 
there ! Wouldn’t wonder if the boss’s mustache cup 
was knocked off the sideboard and all bust to 
pieces ! ” 

They kept a sharp lookout, hoping against hope 
that the U-boat would come back and again try con- 
clusions, or that a “ pal ” — for it is very generally 
believed that German submarines never operate 
alone — would take up the gauntlet. But the epi- 
sode appeared to be closed, for they reached the 
steamer, which had now stopped her engines in re- 
sponse to the chaser’s signals, without seeing any- 
thing more of the foe. The Agawam had fared 
rather badly. She was a big cargo boat of some 
5,000 tons displacement and from her depth in the 
water it was evident that she was loaded to capacity. 
She had carried a rifle forward and one aft, and 
there was a machine gun amidships. Bow and after 
guns had been put out of action by bursting shrapnel 
and only the machine gun remained of use, and that 
had been powerless at the range presented by the 
submarine. Those on the 944 counted six evident 
hits on the Agawam. Fortunately, only one shell 
had struck close to the water-line, due, perhaps, to 

158 


THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH 


the fact that the steamer was unusually low and so 
presented but a small target vertically. Most of 
the damage had been above deck. The rail was torn 
away in three places for many yards, the amidship 
deck structure was a mass of splintered ruins and 
two boats were demolished. One of the three fun- 
nels was crumpled and showed daylight clear 
through it, and the wireless had been wrecked early 
in the engagement, which accounted for the Aga- 
wam's silence after noon. 

The most serious injury was from the one shell 
which had entered the hull just at the water and 
in line with number one hold. The explosion had 
set fire to her cargo there and smoke was still pour- 
ing forth in billowing clouds as the 944, sweeping 
alongside, hailed. The captain answered from the 
remains of a badly treated bridge. The sub had 
appeared at shortly after nine o’clock some three 
miles off the starboard beam and the Agawam had 
promptly changed her course and used all speed. 
But she was loaded too deep for speed and after 
a half-hour the U-boat had fired a shell that fell 
short. The Agawam had then returned the fire 
without success, as the sub was beyond range of 
her three-inch guns, and a running fight had en- 
159 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


sued, with the U-boat gradually finding her target. 
A lucky shot had soon put the after gun out of 
commission, and the bow gun had been knocked 
from its platform still later. The third mate, two 
members of the forward gun crew and one sailor 
had been killed and six men were wounded. The 
fire in the hold could be controlled, he thought, until 
they made port, if they could manage a temporary 
patch of the hull. Fortunately, the engines had 
not been damaged, and, more fortunately, a large 
consignment of shells, which made up a third of 
the cargo, was stowed in the after hold. 

Lieutenant Cowan saluted. “ I congratulate 
you, Captain,” he said heartily, “ on the plucky fight 
you put up and on your escape. I’m sorry to say 
the dogs got away from us, sir. Now, in what way 
can I be of service ? ” 

“ Stand by me, sir, to Liverpool. Can you do 
that?” 

“ I’ll convoy you past the cape, Captain, and ar- 
range for you beyond there. Is there anything 
else I can do for you ? ” 

“ You might lend me some men to clear up this 
mess and stick a patch over that hole. I’m short- 
handed a bit.” 


160 


THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH 


“ Certainly. Are you all right for medical sup- 
plies? ” 

“ Plenty, thanks. My second mate is a bit of a 
saw-bones/’ 

The 944 slung over a boat and eight eager men 
crowded in. Dave was fortunate enough to be in- 
cluded. They toiled aboard the Agawam until 
nearly dark, by which time the deck was cleared of 
litter, the hole in the hull was patched with two- 
inch planking, and the after gun was restored to 
service. The bow gun was too badly wrecked for 
repairing. Just how badly the steamer had fared 
was not revealed until the 944’ s party had climbed 
on board. Then a full view of the battered deck 
lay before them, and Dave marveled that the loss 
of life had not been far greater. There was scarcely 
a foot of deck aft of the bridge that did not show 
shrapnel scars. Dave talked with one of the for- 
ward gun crew, a chap of nineteen, who gave his 
name as Edmunds, and who was called Alvin by his 
pals, with whom he was trying desperately hard 
to reconstruct the gun with the spare parts at their 
command. 

“ We tried to get the captain to bear down on 
the Hun and fight him. We could have licked the 
161 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


tar out of him easy. But he wouldn’t. Said his 
duty was to get his ship and cargo over. Maybe so, 
but it sure seemed a shame not to get Fritz’s scalp. 
That old tin fish stayed out of range most of the 
time, and when they gave us a chance they kept zig- 
zagging, firing over one bow and then the other. 
They didn’t make a target big enough to sight, hang 
’em ! But we got away, and I suppose we’d ought to 
be thankful for that. But, gee ! I wish you fellows 
had * strafed ’ ’em ! ” 

“ So do we,” said Dave mournfully. “ We 
landed twice and knocked away their wave breaker, 
but then they went under and we lost them. And 
our depth charges didn’t seem to feaze them any, 
either. It was tough luck.” 

“ Those squareheads are a lucky bunch, anyway,” 
said Edmunds. “ If it wasn’t for their fool luck 
the Kaiser’d be breaking stones up-river by now! 
Well, I hope we meet up with that particular Hun 
again some day. All I’m asking is a fair shot at 
her before I cash in. I’d give ninety days’ pay and 
a week in brig for that! ” 

And the rest of the crew growled agreement. 

Shortly after 7 o’clock the boarding party re- 
turned to the chaser and the two craft started on 
162 


THE HUN SHOWS HIS TEETH 


their way again, headed for Cape Clear. The 944 
suited her speed to the Agawam’s , and through a 
clear, starlit night and over a calm sea they made 
their way at a trifle better than ten knots. Once a 
patrol blinked at them, but aside from that nothing 
transpired until, at sunrise, the green coast of Ire- 
land arose from a turquois sea. Off Toe Head a 
small United States destroyer bore down, signal- 
ing, and the 944 was relieved of her charge. Wav- 
ing “ Good-by and good luck ! ” she swung about in 
a churning wake of foam and sped southward again. 
From the stern Dave and The Pickle watched the 
plucky Agawam fade from sight, her path marked 
by a trailing cloud of brown smoke from the burn- 
ing cargo. 

“ Those Naval Guards on the merchantmen see 
some excitement, don't they ? ” mused Dill. “ I 
don’t know but what they stand a better show than 
we do to get action. Maybe we’d have done better 
if we’d gone in for that job.” 

Dave smiled. “ Don’t you consider that we man- 
aged to scare up a little action and excitement yes- 
terday ? ” he asked. 

“ That ? ” The Pickle considered gravely. 
“ Well, yes, I suppose you’d say so. Still, there 
163 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


wasn’t much to it, now, was there? Look here, 
Kid, what I joined this war for was — ” 

“ To escape college,” laughed Dave. 

“ Partly that,” The Pickle acknowledged, with a 
grin, “ and partly to get a good whack at those — 
those blamed murderers! And my idea of a good 
time is to go after ’em where they live and knock 
the everlasting tar right out of ’em! Fight ’em 
to a fare-ye-well ! This snooping around just wait- 
ing for them to stick their heads up so you can hit 
’em is poor business. They don’t give you a show. 
They peek out, and if there’s anything bigger than 
a tugboat in sight they duck again. They certainly 
play it safe, don’t they? ” 

“ I suppose they do. But they’re doing what 
they’re here for; and they’re doing it a sight too 
well to please me. Some one’s got to do the sort 
of thing we’re doing, Bob. It may be kind of dis- 
appointing, but it’s necessary, and it’s going to 
count.” 

“ Hope so,” grumbled Dill, “ but it isn’t my idea 
of war. Still, if Uncle Sam wants it done, why I’m 
the lad for it. What he says goes!” 


CHAPTER V 


CONVOY DUTY 

Followed a fortnight of uneventful existence. 
Back in Queenstown they made the most of the 
interims between sea duty, putting in all the time 
ashore that they could get, hobnobbing with “ gobs ” 
from the other ships, yarning and listening to yarns, 
rooting enthusiastically for this or that baseball 
team, reading and writing in the Y. M. C. A. hut, 
and exploring the neighboring villages and towns, 
for that was before the men were restricted to 
bounds. They found mail awaiting them, and a 
multitude of home papers and magazines, and Dave 
received a box of comforts from his mother that 
made him a bit homesick at first, and then cheered 
him up vastly. The three of them, Dave, Pete, and 
The Pickle, made that box look horribly empty in 
something under an hour ! 

The second period of duty on patrol brought noth- 
ing to liven the monotony. Fair weather held, and 
the six days outside were deadly monotonous, or 
165 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


would have been had there not always been the hope 
of something happening to keep their spirits up. 
Gun practice saved the day for many of them. 
Dave was trying his best to qualify for seaman gun- 
ner, and to that end studied diligently in what books 
he could buy or borrow, and watched Kennedy 
closely, and asked so many questions that he threat- 
ened to become a nuisance. Chuck Morgan re- 
mained as affable as ever, but he stood in such re- 
spect of The Pickle’s vocabulary that he generally 
avoided that youth’s society. He tried picking on 
Pete once or twice, and Pete good-naturedly let him 
get away with it until Chuck ill-advisedly referred 
to Pete as a Sinn Feiner. Then the fur flew until 
friends of the belligerents took their lives in their 
hands and parted them just in time to save them 
from the eye of the junior officer. Chuck got 
slightly the worst of the encounter, but, as Pete 
pointed out aggrievedly, he hadn’t got nearly what 
he would have had the fellows let them alone! 
After that Chuck remained on good behavior for 
some time. 

Their second stay at the base was cut short by 
one day, and the 944 slid out between the nets that 
guard the harbor entrance one twilight in company 
1 66 


CONVOY DUTY 


with four destroyers and a second chaser, and 
turned her nose west southwest. “ Convoy duty,” 
said Briggs hopefully. “ Maybe we’ll land a scrap 
this time. Only, if we do,” he added dejectedly, 
“ those destroyers’ll jump in and hog the show.” 

Still, there was no charge for hoping, and the 
crew of the 944 dreamed beautiful dreams of a 
stand-up-and-knock-down shindy with a fine big 
Fritz. All that night and all the next day the six 
craft steamed westward in single-column formation, 
the gray destroyers in the lead and setting a sharp 
pace and the two chasers bringing up the rear. Be- 
hind the 944 was one of the 1 io-foot boats, narrow 
beamed, low decked, with a square stern. She 
looked ridiculously small for the work in hand, but 
they had to acknowledge aboard the 944 that she 
was certainly able and looked a heap like business. 
They had squally weather, with a rough sea, and 
the 944’s deck ran with water most of the time. As 
for the destroyers, reaching out in a long, slim, gray 
line ahead, they made no pretense of keeping dry. 
They simply buried their sharp noses into the chop 
and flung the seas over the swaying bridges and 
asked for more. In the graveyard watch of the sec- 
ond morning the engines ceased their humming, and 
167 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


it was known that the convoys had reached the ren- 
dezvous. They pitched and slopped around until 
dawn, making headway and no more, and then 
went on again lazily, the lookouts peering ahead into 
a gray mist. It was the middle of the forenoon 
before smoke was sighted. Then out of the haze 
crept twelve big transports, asking hoarse questions 
with their whistles, and fluttering a babel of con- 
versation by wig-wag. 

Two of the ships were laden with marines and 
the rest with army troops, and as the destroyers and 
chasers sped past, under the high sides, to take their 
positions, the air was filled with cheers and the 
long decks fluttered with waving hats. Aboard 
the little 944 they clustered at the rail and 
grinned and waved back, and felt for some 
reason a bit chokey. Tier on tier of olive-drab 
forms loomed above them, so many that it seemed 
to Dave that every camp and cantonment back home 
must have been emptied aboard those big ships. 
Cheer after cheer followed them as they dashed by 
in a welter of spray, rather smartly they all hoped, 
and ducked across under the frowning bows of a big 
transport to take their position on the starboard 
flank. Signal answered signal, sirens screeched, 
168 


CONVOY DUTY 


and, as Pete said, Donnybrook Fair had nothing on 
them. Yet out of the confusion order came swiftly, 
and an hour after the junction of transports and 
convoys big ships and little were on their way again, 
the troopships in line of twos and the convoys on 
each flank. Westward they set their course, and 
satisfaction possessed the fo’c’sle of the 944 . 

" Bordeaux/' guessed Briggs joyfully. “Great!: 
They say it's some town, fellows. A chap I met 
the other day told me you can get regular back-home 
pie in Bordeaux. And cake! Say, boy, Pm not 
eating a thing till we get there ! ” 

Meanwhile, you may be certain, no lookout 
napped at his station. On convoys and transports 
sharp eyes combed the sea for the challenge of an 
upthrust periscope or the slinking form of a dripping 
conning tower. Over the rims of swaying cages, 
down from lofty crow’s nests, lookouts peered all 
hours at a yeasty ocean, while from decks as well 
spotters leveled their glasses. The Pickle chuckled 
as he joined Dave in the lee of the funnel that after- 
noon. 

“ I know just how those doughboys over there 
are feeling to-day,” he said, in answer to the other’s- 
look of inquiry. “ I’ve been through it. You talk 
169 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

such a lot about the danger zone and get to think- 
ing about it so much that when they pass you the 
word one night to sleep in your life-belts, and you 
know you’ve got there at last, you just naturally 
expect a torpedo to come flipping right into your 
bunk ’most any time. You don’t sleep a whole lot 
that first night, either. Maybe it is because life- 
belts aren’t as comfortable as pajamas, or maybe 
because every time a sailor stubs his toe at the far 
end of the ship you sit right straight up in bed and 
try to remember off-hand which way your boat is. 
Lots of us slept on deck that first night. They told 
us we mustn’t, but we did. There was something 
quite a bit cheering in the thought that when the 
4 moldie ’ struck us all we had to do was slide gently 
into the sea and strike out for Liverpool ! Bet you 
they’re a nervous bunch over there just now.” He 
nodded toward the nearest of the big transports. 
“If some one drops a plate at mess there’ll be a rush 
for the decks that’ll make a subway crush look like 
a doll’s party.” 

“ I suppose you do feel sort of ticklish,” mused 
Dave. “ Think what a prize one of those ships 
would be for a Hun. Imagine a torpedo bursting 
amidships yonder.” 


170 


CONVOY DUTY 


“ I’d rather not, thanks,” said Dill, dryly. 
“ You've got a punk imagination, Kid.” After a 
moment he went on. “ Funny about that steamer. 
When we first ran past her she looked sort of fa- 
miliar to me, like an old friend who’s shaved off his 
mustache or — or parted his hair different. All 
daubed up with gray like that, she sort of puzzled 
me. Then I borrowed a pair of glasses and read 
her name on a lifeboat. She’s the old Everglades, 
and I’ve made three trips on her. Know her al- 
most as well as I know my frat house. She used to 
run from New York to Savannah. See that tim- 
ber arrangement on the upper deck almost at the 
end? Some sort of a signaling effect, I guess. 
Well, my stateroom was the one just for’ard of it. 
One, two, three — six from the thwartship passage. 
Seems funny to see her away out here and all 
smudged up with gray and filled with soldiers. Gee, 
war does funny tricks ! I’ve had some mighty good 
times on that old ship,” he added with a chuckle. 

Carter joined them, half seated himself on the 
narrow ledge about the funnel base without a word 
and bracing himself to the swing of the boat. 

“ How many troops do you suppose she has 
aboard ? ” asked Dave. 


UNDER THE .YANKEE ENSIGN 


" Maybe fifteen hundred,” estimated Dill. 
“ Maybe more than that. They’ve changed those 
ships all over inside and can pack ’em away like sar- 
dines. Gee, that’s queer, too ! What are they do- 
ing there, fellows, all those guys in khaki ? Where’d 
they come from ? What’s it all mean, eh ? ” He 
shook his head in a hopelessly puzzled way. Carter 
viewed him in mild surprise, but made no answer. 
Dave nodded. 

“ It is funny,” he said. “ Fifteen hundred 
American kids. Clerks and college boys and fac- 
tory hands and day laborers a few months ago. 
Didn’t know whether a rifle was something to eat 
or a new game of cards. Now look at them ! Yes, 
it’s — it’s mighty queer. What are they doing?” 

“ Making men of themselves,” said Carter evenly. 
“ Going across the ocean to fight a horde of murder- 
ing cowards, and maybe get killed doing it. Going 
over to set things right again in this world we’re liv- 
ing in. Taking their chances for those that will 
come after them, the kids of to-day and all the kids 
to come. That’s what this war seems to me, fel- 
lows, a war for the — the future generation, so 
they’ll be free and happy. It doesn’t seem to make 
such a lot of difference about us folks, we that are 
172 


CONVOY DUTY 


here now, does it? It’s our children and their chil- 
dren we’ve got to think about, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Blessed if I ever thought of it like that,” said 
Dill slowly. “ But I see what you’re driving at, 
Yank. There’s something in it, too. I guess if we 
don’t settle this thing now, and for keeps, our kids’ll 
have mighty poor pickings. A war for the kids, 
eh? Well, maybe, Yank, maybe.” 

“ It’s wonderful, anyway,” said Dave, “ all those 
boys picked up out of quiet, everyday, humdrum life 
and — and sort of melted over into soldiers and 
fighters in a jiffy. It — it makes you awfully proud 
that you’re an American, doesn’t it?” 

“ Sure,” responded Bill, more cheerfully. 
“ Makes you want to flap your wings a bit and 
crow. Or — or blink your eyes and swallow ! ” 

“ I guess we’ve all always been proud of being 
Americans,” observed Carter quietly, “ only we 
didn’t always know it.” 

“ Right-o,” agreed The Pickle. “ And there’s 
only one thing that will ever make me change my 
mind about it.” 

“ What’s that?” 

“ Well, that’s — ” He stopped and looked 
frowningly across the tumbling water. Then : 
173 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

“ Suppose we fall down on this job, fellows. Sup- 
pose that after all the boasting we’ve done, because 
we have done a lot of it; too blamed much, and 
you both know it; suppose that after all our talk of 
what we are going to do, we — don’t do it ! That 
would be pretty sickening, wouldn’t it ? ” 

“ We will do it,” said Carter confidently. “ We 
can’t help doing it. It’s in us. We do boast, but 
we don’t mean any harm. It’s just our way of 
showing our confidence, of being-what-do-you-call- 
it, optimistic. It’s just plain spirits. But we al- 
ways make good our boasts, and that’s the main 
thing!” 

“ Hope you’re right,” commented Dill, uncon- 
vinced. “ Anyway, I’m not hauling down my flag 
yet!” 

That night they churned along under dark skies 
with never a glimmer showing, and the next day 
found themselves under a blue heaven again and 
bathed in the warm sunshine of early September. 
There were no alarms from the lookouts. The sub- 
marine might well have been a prehistoric myth for 
all the evidence they found. On the transports 
drills occupied much of the time, and from the p 44 
they watched the olive-drab figures assemble on the 
174 


v ' ' , GONf OY DUTY 

deck of the Everglades for setting-up drill in the 
morning and saw them hurrying to the life-boats 
later. Toward evening they all slowed down while 
one of the troopships made engine repairs. 

Finally, soon after dawn the next day, they raised 
the French coast and at noon were passing through 
the estuary of the Gironde River, picking their way 
in single line between the hidden mines and nets, 
guided by a diminutive French cruiser with a kaleid- 
oscopic hull. Bevies of trawlers crawled from their 
path and big cargo boats churned past them, going 
seaward. The ocean breeze had departed and a 
languorous warmth wrapped them as they followed 
the course of the winding channel. Green meadows 
descended gently to the river banks and picturesque 
white plaster houses with impossibly red roofs 
peeked at them from under the trees. Dave’s first 
glimpse of France was a happy one, for Bordeaux 
has a peculiar charm of Old World quaintness and 
color. 

The convoys anchored below the city, while the 
transports sailed on and up and finally out of sight, 
lost in a forest of roofs and masts. There was 
liberty that afternoon for all who wanted it aboard 
the 944, and Dave, Dill, and Pete went merrily 
175 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

ashore and saw the town. And there was much to 
see, much that was as unfamiliar as picturesque and 
curious. There were squads of German prisoners 
at work along the docks, phlegmatic and evidently 
contented, loading and unloading transports and 
merchantmen and guarded by colorful French sol- 
diers with phenomenally long bayonets fixed to their 
rifles. The streets were filled with donkey carts, 
each presided over by a woman, and women drove 
the street cars as well. Soldiers on leave were 
everywhere, hobbling about on crutches or bandaged 
somewhere and always cheerful, or so it seemed to 
the boys. They saw all they could crowd into a 
few short hours; the markets, and the warm-hued 
old buildings and the goats that were driven from 
door to door and milked and many, many churches, 
in one of which they viewed a fine collection of 
mummies ! 

America, however, was fast working a change in 
the old city, for docks and warehouses and camps 
were going up overnight and the khaki-clad boys 
from the U. S. A. were everywhere in evidence. 
Outside the town a veritable village of wooden build- 
ings was nearing completion, a camp to which the 
new troops were marched from the transports and 
176 


CONVOY DUTY 


quartered until they were sent off to the villages 
behind the lines. The 944 lay in the Gironde that 
night and then, at sun-up, churned off, in company 
with the other chaser, and headed for Queenstown. 

Penmarch Point, the easterly tip of France, was 
abreast at sunset and some time in the early morn- 
ing the Sicilly Islands were passed. The other 
chaser had passed from sight with darkness and the 
944 , quite alone now and swinging along at some 
fourteen knots with only enough motion to deepen 
the slumber of the watch below, was approximately 
sixty miles west of Land’s End when the tragedy 
occurred. 


CHAPTER VI 


FLOATING PERIL 

Submarine mines are not, contrary to a general 
belief among folks ashore, deliberately released on 
the surface and allowed to float away in the hope 
that ocean currents will bear them into the path of 
shipping. That is a far too hit-and-miss method 
for the “ efficient ” Germans. Mines are expensive 
things to manufacture and the enemy does not know- 
ingly waste them. What she does is release them, 
either from mine-laying submarines or from surface 
boats, with weight and buoyancy nicely adjusted so 
that they will anchor themselves and float at a given 
depth below water. The anchor, generally of the 
familiar mushroom type, is attached to a steel cable 
which unwinds until automatically stopped by a hy- 
drostatic valve. The valve may be adjusted at will, 
and when the ocean depth is known it is a simple 
matter to plant the mine so that it will float at the 
desired depth below the surface, usually from eight 
i 7 8 


FLOATING PERIL 


to twelve feet. Still, errors of adjustment are 
sometimes made and frequently the tide is not taken 
sufficiently into consideration. The air chamber is 
filled at a certain pressure in port, but this pressure 
frequently changes before the mine is laid, in which 
case the mine does not float at the desired depth. 
In high water and a strongly running tide the mine 
rises obliquely from the anchor. Consequently, 
when the pull of the tide ceases the mine straightens 
perpendicularly and often shows itself above water. 

There are, however, such things as floating mines, 
as many an unfortunate ship has discovered to its 
sorrow ; but they are mines that, in some fashion or 
other, have become separated from their anchors. 
Generally such mines, if picked up unexploded, show 
the cable to have been broken, just how is a mat- 
ter of conjecture, although there are cases where 
the mine has become detached from the cable or 
the cable has come away from the anchor. Doubt- 
less of the hundreds of thousands of mines planted 
by the countries at war, a fairly large proportion go 
astray. Scarcely a day passes that many are not 
found and either salvaged or blown to pieces, and 
the marvel is that more destruction is not caused by 
these irresponsible weapons. It is only necessary 
179 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


to exert a nine-pound pressure against one of the 
several “ horns,” or firing pins, which project from 
the body of the mine in order to explode the three, 
four or five hundred pounds of gun-cotton or tri- 
nitrotoluol within, and the slightest bump of a ves- 
sel’s hull is sufficient. 

Why fate should have brought the 944 and a float- 
ing mine together at the entrance to St. George 
Channel is beyond me, but it did. 

Dave was fast asleep in his bunk in that hour be- 
fore the dawn, curled up very snugly and peacefully 
dreaming of — But he never remembered his 
dreams, for his waking was far too abrupt. He 
was conscious of a frightful grinding, crashing ex- 
plosion, of being hurled through space, and of com- 
ing into violent contact with something very hard 
and unyielding. Darkness and confusion sur- 
rounded him. Succeeding the sound of the ex- 
plosion, deep silence held for a long moment. 
Then cries of alarm, command and conjecture broke 
forth. Dave picked himself from the floor of the 
fo’c’sle, collided with some one, and made blindly 
for the companion. He made out Pete’s voice in 
the sudden babel of noise. “ They’ve got us ! ” Pete 
was saying angrily. “ The dirty Huns have got 
180 


FLOATING PERIL 


us ! ” Dave pushed up the ladder and sprang to- 
ward the boats. Orders were coming now. 

“ Cut those lashings ! Steady, men ! Don’t 
rush ! All together, now, heave ! Make fast to the 
falls! ” 

The deck was canting and the port railing was 
under water when the boat on that side was swung 
outboard on its davits. From the waist clouds of 
white steam billowed spectrally in the darkness. 
After the first minute or two of confusion silence 
reigned aboard the chaser, a silence broken only by 
the rushing of escaping steam from the boiler room, 
the commands of the officers, and the orderly bus- 
tle of the men. There was little time to lose, for it 
was apparent at once that the explosion had done 
for the 944 and that she would remain afloat but 
a short while. Perhaps eight minutes elapsed from 
the moment of the catastrophe to the instant that 
the order “ Clear away ! ” was given. The port 
boat had no difficulty, but the starboard, because of 
the chaser’s cant, was nearly overturned in lower- 
ing. One man went into the water, but was pulled 
out again. Having pulled clear, the two boats lay 
by. The lieutenant had returned to his quarters to 
secure the code books and papers, and those in the 
i 8 r 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


boats awaited his return anxiously, the starboard 
boat lying close to the stern, ready to take him off. 
Fortunately, the sea was fairly calm and the night 
only moderately chill, for few of the men were 
dressed in more than their underclothes and life- 
vests. The 944 was settling rapidly, going down 
port side under and slightly by the bow. 

The port boat, minus two of her complement of 
fourteen, drifted away, and Ensign Hyatt ordered 
them to paddle back closer to the other boat. The 
two vacancies were caused by the absence of Pruitt 
and Low, both of the engine room force. They and 
one other had been killed, although whether by the 
explosion or by escaping steam was not known. 
Many of the men on duty at the time had suffered 
injuries, but none seriously. 

“ She'll sink in a minute now,” said Pete anxiously 
at Dave’s back. Both he and Dill were in the port 
boat and unhurt. “ I wish the Old Man would 
hurry up.” 

Then, almost before the last word was past his 
lips, there was a warning cry from the starboard 
boat, the oars backed water, and the gallant little 
944 buried her nose and went from sight. There 
was a swirl of water that made the life-boats dance 
182 


FLOATING PERIL 


for a minute like cockles, and then silence, empti- 
ness, and darkness. 

The two boats dashed forward across the spot, 
and the lanterns were held to sweep the water. But 
there was no sign of the lieutenant. Back and 
forth they paddled, calling and listening, and at last, 
when it seemed certain that the chaser’s commander 
had perished with his ship, a faint hail came from 
the darkness ahead of the port boat. The men bent 
quickly at their oars, and the lantern’s rays flickered 
anxiously. In a moment they saw him, a darker 
splotch on the waves, and presently, nearly ex- 
hausted, but clutching his precious papers, the lieu- 
tenant was pulled into the boat. 

“ I was half-way up the ladder when she dived,” 
he gasped. “ She took me down with her and some- 
thing caught my leg. I think I hurt it a little get- 
ting loose.” They had called to the other boat that 
the lieutenant was safe, and now the ensign shouted 
to them to pull across. 

“ You stay here, sir,” he said, “ and I’ll change 
into the starboard boat. We’d better lay our course 
for the Scillies, I presume.” 

“ Certainly. St. Martin is the nearest. About 
thirty-four miles, I’d say. Make it southeast by 

183 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


south, three quarters south. If this breeze holds we 
should make land by daylight.” 

“ Very good, sir. You’d better do what you can 
for your leg, hadn’t you ? ” 

“ It can wait, thanks. It’s nothing of import- 
ance. We’ll keep together if possible, I think.” 

The ensign made his transfer to the stern sheets 
of the starboard boat, masts were stepped and the 
lug sails took the breeze and the course was set for 
the nearest of the Scilly Islands. In the port boat 
Lieutenant Cowan himself took the tiller. There 
was enough breeze to send the little boat along at a 
good four or five miles an hour, and so there was no 
need of using the oars. Spray flew in pretty con- 
stantly over the low gunwales and soon they were 
all shivering, as the water penetrated their scanty 
clothing. The wind came from the west, or very 
near it, and it was possible to hold her to her course 
fairly well. The dim light of the other boat grad- 
ually fell away to starboard and finally vanished, 
suggesting that she was not making quite as good 
headway. In spite of chattering teeth the occupants 
were cheerful. They all felt sorry over the loss 
of the 944 , for they had become attached to her, 
and the deaths of their three shipmates weighed on 
184 


FLOATING PERIL 


their minds, but they had had a miraculous escape 
from a very great danger, and that fact was enough 
to counteract on depression. The lieutenant was 
silent most of the time, doubtless dejected by the 
loss of his boat, and the men respected his feelings. 
But gradually a low tone of conversation succeeded 
the whispering, and at last, just as the first streaks 
of day showed in the east, some irrepressible started 
to whistle softly in the bow and soon they were all 
humming and then singing the song. 

“ Oh, say, can you see by the dawn’s early light 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleam- 
ing, 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro’ the perilous 
fight, 

O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly stream- 
ing. 

And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air. 

Gave proof thro’ the night that our flag was still there. 
Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? ” 

Even the lieutenant, his face looking grave and 
white in the gray half-darkness, joined in, although 
the lieutenant’s singing voice was nothing to boast 
of. They sang the anthem through to the last 
word — something that few, if any, of them would 
have been able to do six months before, gaining new, 

185 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

fervor as they went on. As one clear boyish voice 
Started the first note of the final stanza, a flush of 
pink mingled with the dull gray of the eastern sky 
and tinged it with the soft colors of a dove’s breast, 
and day lay just below the watery horizon. 

“ Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved home and wild war’s desolation ; 
Blest with vict’ry and peace, may the heaven-rescued land 
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a 
nation. 

Then conquer we must when our cause it is just, 

And this be our motto: ‘ In God is Our Trust !’ 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! ” 

As the last lingering note died on the air Ken- 
nedy raised a hand and pointed eastward. 

“ That looks like smoke, sir, doesn’t it ? ” he 
asked. 


CHAPTER VII 


ON THE MINE SWEEPER 

An hour later the occupants of the port life-boat 
were safe aboard the British steam trawler Good 
Venture. Scalding hot tea had driven the cold from 
their bodies, and each had been provided with cloth- 
ing of some sort from the slop-chest of the little 
ship. None of them had saved anything from the 
944 save the apparel they had had on at the time, 
except that the lieutenant had managed to squirm 
into a pair of dress trousers and bring off the ship’s 
papers and the lead-bound book that held the secret 
code. Briggs remarked philosophically that it was 
a lucky thing pay day was so far past that few of 
them had possessed much money to lose! The 
Good Venture was a Grimsby boat, a stout-hulled, 
high-bowed little steamer, once painted gray but 
now showing as much red-brown rust as paint. She 
had two masts and a tall, slim funnel, forward of 
which was a high wheelhouse. She carried a mere 
handful of men — Grimsby fishermen all before 
187 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


the war, and for some months after it, too, and now 
members of the Trawlers’ Naval Reserve. The 
master, a square giant of a man with a leather-hued 
face encircled by black whiskers, held the official 
title of skipper. 

“ I can’t land you, sir,” he informed the lieuten- 
ant, “ afore the day after to-morrow, for I’m on 
duty; but if there’s the chance I’ll put you aboard 
a boat bound for port. There’s room for all and 
plenty to eat, and if there’s aught we can do for you 
’twill be done with a will.” 

The Good Venture had a rendezvous with a sister 
trawler further west, and search for the 944’s star- 
board life-boat was impossible. It seemed that she 
must be in sight, and yet, as the day broadened, there 
was no sign of her, and the Good Venture , which 
had steamed several miles from her course to pick 
up the lieutenant’s boat, swung back to her path 
of duty. It was generally agreed that the other 
boat had probably held closer to the wind and so 
got farther south, and that, in any case, she was 
in no danger and would, if not picked up before- 
hand, make one of the Scilly Islands without diffi- 
culty. It was, however, many months before Dave 
saw any of the starboat boat’s crew again, although 
188 


ON THE MINE SWEEPER 

he learned a few days later of their safe arrival at 
Trescos. 

The Good Venture, it appeared, was a mine 
sweeper, one of the Plymouth fleet, and had been 
across to Brest and was now rejoining her sister 
ship, the Arabella. The lieutenant was taken in 
charge by the skipper and the men were bunked 
forward in the commodious quarters. The Good 
Venture seemed to be something of a family affair, 
for the first mate was the skipper’s brother and two 
of the crew were cousins, while a third, a yellow- 
haired boy of surely no more than seventeen, was 
the skipper’s nephew. It was he, a shy, slow-spoken 
lad, who became Dave’s guide over the ship after all 
hands had partaken of a generous breakfast. 

Pete and The Pickle went to sleep, as did most 
of the others, but Dave never felt more wide awake 
in his life as he climbed out on deck at the heels of 
the Grimsby lad. At first Dave had some difficulty 
in understanding the boy’s speech, as much because 
of the unfamiliar words used, as because of his Lin- 
colnshire pronunciation. But by the time they had 
visited engine room and wheel house and seen 
what was to be seen and had come to rest beside the 
big winch, which wound and unwound the steel cable 
189 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


used for sweeping, that slight difficulty had passed. 
Tom Garrity had the bluest of blue eyes and the 
yellowest of yellow hair, and, with his faded red 
jersey, made a colorful picture as he leaned against 
the winch and answered Dave’s questions. 

“ ’Tain’t our place to do fighting,” he replied, 
“ but there’s that gun handy-like and we’ve used it 
two, three times, an’ once we got a ’Un with it, too. 
That was in March o’ this year. We was sweeping 
with the Belle o’ Headon off Wight at the time. 
Admiralty telled of a new nest o’ eggs just laid 
thereabouts and us and the Belle set out one fine 
blowy day to pull them up. There was a bit o’ sea 
running an’ it was fair wet work, but we gets the 
gear out an’ starts along, the pair o’ us, an’ works 
for it might be three, four hours without getting a 
tug on the cable. It was a gray, misty day, an’ now 
and then it drizzles a bit an’ you can’t see far into it. 
But of a sudden we gets the Belle’s ’ooter, three 
times, which is the signal meaning ‘ Submarine ! * 
The skipper couldn’t see nothing, though, and no 
more could us, but the Belle signals haul in and we 
hauls, an’ right in the middle off it pops a sub, not a 
cable-length off to port. All black and shiny-wet 
she was, a drippin’ water, and ’er ’atch opens and out 
190 


ON THE MINE SWEEPER 


pops a officer, just like one o’ this ’ere ugly Jack-in- 
the-Boxes. 

“ ’E didn’t carry no gun ; a lot of ’em didn’t those 
days : ’twas the torpedoes as done the business for 
’em. * Out o’ it,’ says the blighter. ‘ Stop your 
engines and get in your boats afore I puts a torpedo 
into you.’ We was caught, do you see, with the 
cable ’alf in and no chance to run for it if we’d 
wanted to. The Belle couldn’t do nothing because 
we was between her and the ’Un. So the skipper 
’e sings out to swing the boat over, and then ’e 
whispers to ’Erbert, that’s the mate, do you see, and 
’Erbert ’e walks aroun t’other side o’ the ’ouse an’ 
beckons to the Belle to ease up on the cable. Then 
’e tells Will, in the engine room, to put ’er ahead 
full steam, an’ so ’twas done. The skipper ’e makes 
a jump for the wheel an’ he slings ’er over an’ we 
comes around like a bloomin’ tee-totum an’ makes 
for the ’Un. ’E sees what we was up to an’ he 
yells a lot an’ ’e gets out o’ the way by a matter o’ 
inches an’ we goes slappin’ past ’is stern. But ’e 
wasn’t considerin’ o’ that cable, an’ it comes taut, 
do you see, an’ whangs up against the sub abaft the 
conning tower. The officer ’e ducks just in the nick 
o’ time, an’ it slips over an’ takes the after peri- 
191 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


scope off short like a match stick an’ catches against 
the forward one. The skipper ’e laughs like ’e was 
’aving a fit, an’ ’e couldn’t ’ardly slip the shell in the 
gun, but ’e did it, an’ ’Erbert ’e sights it an’ away 
she blazes.” 

He pointed to the rail further aft. “ There’s 
where she went,” he continued. “ ’Erbert had to 
point ’er so low she took six feet o’ the rail with 
’er, but she done him in all right. Square into the 
’ull she goes, right abaft the tower, an’ the noise was 
fair deafening. An’ the ’Un opens up till you 
could see ’er insides an’ turns over a bit an’ goes 
straight down like a lump o’ lead.” 

“ Golly ! ” exclaimed Dave. “ And then what ? ” 

Tom Garrity viewed him in faint surprise. 
“ Then we went on sweeping,” he answered. 

The Good Venture found her consort at five bells, 
stood close aboard and tossed a line across. The 
Arabella was slightly smaller than the Good Ven- 
ture , but in other respects might have been built in 
the same yard and from the same model. This, 
however, was not the case, since the Arabella hailed 
from Lowestoft in time of peace. The winches 
rattled and the long wire cable splashed into the 
water. The two boats veered apart, the “ kites,” 
192 


ON THE MINE SWEEPER 


which are weighted timber frames to hold the cable 
at proper depth, were cast over, and all was ready 
for the day’s work. Abreast, keeping their relative 
positions as though they had never known another 
mission in life, the trawlers steamed slowly north- 
ward, between them some sixty fathoms of tough 
steel wire cable dragging below the choppy surface. 
At the bow two men watched intently, for it is poor 
policy to strike a mine, and at the winch were two 
more hands, ready to wind or unwind, as necessity 
required, and able to tell by reason of long months 
of experience when the cable made a “ catch,” much 
as a fisherman knows when a fish tugs ever so 
gently at his line. Many miles northward steamed 
the two boats, then turned precisely and came back 
on a parallel course. And so it went all that day 
and never a mine was caught in the sweep. 

The men from the 944 watched interestedly and, 
it must be confessed, a trifle uneasily. A sweeper 
must walk straight through a mine field, trusting 
to luck to get the “ eggs ” on the cable and not to 
bump them with her hull. The lookouts can sel- 
dom see a mine more than a very few feet under 
the surface, and then only when the surface is fairly 
“ glassy,” and so there must be a special providence 
193 4 * 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


to watch over the fortunes of the trawler fleet. 
Mine sweeping has been said to be the riskiest work 
of the war, on land or sea, and the long honor roll 
of men who have perished while engaged in it bears 
out the contention. Ship after ship has gone down 
with not one survivor to tell the story of the sacri- 
fice. 

“ Why, it’s like this,” said the skipper in reply to 
a question from Kennedy, “ if we misses ’em, we 
goes on. If we ’its ’em, we goes down.” 

A fine, calm philosophy, but not especially reas- 
suring to the Good Venture's uninvited guests. 

When darkness came the trawlers anchored within 
sight of the Irish coast, doused their lights and 
waited for morning and another day’s duty. In the 
fo’c’sle, an unusually large one, the crew of the 
Good Venture and the sailors from the 944 fra- 
ternized and swapped yarns until six bells. Then, 
to the lazy rolling of the creaking steamer, they 
dropped to sleep and slept hard until, long before 
daylight, they were routed out for breakfast. 

The next day’s work was more eventful. Shortly 
after sun-up there was a cry from the winch man 
and the two steamers slowed down and the big cable 
was slowly wound in, bringing to the surface not one 
194 


ON THE MINE SWEEPER 


but two gray-green objects. Caught by the cable 
against their anchor wires they bobbed about within 
a few feet of each other midway between the two 
trawlers and only the fact that one had been snagged 
further up on its wire kept them from bumping 
socially together. 

On the deck of the Arabella a tall, thin man 
stepped to the rail and leveled a rifle. He was ex- 
tremely deliberate and unexcited, it seemed. On 
the Good Venture the visitors watched from places 
of safety. The marksman’s first shot spat against 
the nearer mine but failed to strike a horn. The 
next shot, however, was immediately followed by 
a roaring explosion and a sudden churning of the 
water. Spray dashed high in the pale sunlight and 
when it fell neither mine was visible. The Good 
Venture's skipper waved commendation, the cable 
was run out once more and side by side the two 
steamers went on. Twice again that forenoon the 
rifle barked from the Arabella , but each time only 
a solitary mine was on view. By noon the sailors 
from the 944 had lost much of their uneasiness and 
had given up haunting the rail and straining their 
eyes over the side. Familiarity had bred contempt, 
or, if not contempt, a philosophy akin to the skip- 
195 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


per’s. If they ’it, they ’it, and that was all there 
was to it. 

Dave, Pete, and The Pickle lost interest in mine 
sweeping after chow and found a sheltered place 
amidships and talked. They speculated on what 
was to happen to them when they reached Queens- 
town, if they ever did. Thus far not so much as 
a fishing smack had approached near enough to be 
hailed and it looked very much as if they would 
have to remain on the Good Venture until she re- 
turned to Plymouth the next evening. 

“Of course,” said Pete, “ they’ll give the Old 
Man another command right away; leastways, as 
soon as they have one for him ; but what’s to become 
o’ us? ’Tain’t likely we’ll be let lay around with 
nothin’ to do, is it ? ” 

They agreed that it wasn’t, and Dave said : “ I 

hope we can keep together, we three, but I don’t 
suppose we can.” 

“ Not a hope,” agreed Pete, “ not a hope. Say, 
I wish they’d put me on a destroyer. That’s the 
life! Somethin’ doin’ all the time, Kid! Rampin’ 
an’ rarin’, that’s them ! Skyhootin’ around all over 
the shop ! A feller’s got some chance to be a hero 
an’ get his stripes on one o’ them.” 

196 


ON THE MINE SWEEPER 


u I was hoping for destroyer duty too,” said Dill. 
“ But they tell me they take only service men. No 
* rubber socks ’ need apply.” 

“ Don’t you believe it,” Pete denied. “ That was 
the rule, but they take anything they can get now. 
Have to. There ain’t enough real ‘ gobs ’ to man 
’em all. Why, they’re even takin’ Reserves ! ” 
And he winked at Dave. 

“ They need a few to tone them up,” responded 
The Pickle untroubledly. “ Guess I’ll run up and 
see Sims when I get ashore and ask him for a berth 
on one of the new destroyers.” 

“ Sure,” approved Pete. “ Drop in about noon 
an’ take dinner. He’ll be tickled to death to have 
you. An’ you might mention my name to him, 
too.” 

“ And mine,” laughed Dave. “ I’d advise^ you to 
get some other togs first, though, Bob. You 
wouldn’t make much of a hit at the Admiralty the 
way you are ! ” 

The Pickle observed his attire judicially. He 
wore a faded brown sweater, much torn and moth- 
eaten, a pair of old gray trousers and shoes at least 
three sizes too large for him. For that matter, 
neither of the others could boast much of their 
197 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


apparel. “ How are we going to get uniforms, 
Pete?” Dill asked. “Will they give us new ones 
for the asking? ” 

“ Sure! If they don’t I’ll disgrace ’em by siftin' 
on the Admiral’s front doorsteps all day with a 
sign on me : ‘ This is the way Uncle Sam dresses 

his sailors ! ’ ” 

“ They’d think you were a tramp, Pete,” said Dill, 
“ and pull you in for impersonating a sailor. Say, 
I wish they’d quit dragging for these blamed mines 
and hike out for home. What sort of a burg is 
Plymouth?” 

“ How do we know ? ” asked Pete. “ What do 
you take us for, perishin’ Britishers ? ” 

“ Well, how do we get to Queenstown, then? ” 

“ Walk,” suggested Pete. “ Seems to me these 
fellers might drop us at Queenstown or some place 
this side, so long as it’s Ireland. We ain’t but a 
dozen miles off now.” 

“ It’s a long dozen,” said The Pickle, stretching 
his neck to look over the rail. “ Hello, there’s the 
whole English navy coming ! Or — or something ! 
Have a look, fellows ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 

Southward a dozen columns of smoke showed, 
but the ships were still hull-down as the three boys 
leaned on the rail and watched. They went for- 
ward and found the skipper and “ ’Erbert ” gazing 
through their glasses. Lieutenant Cowan joined 
them, limping slightly from the effects of the in- 
jury to his leg, and took the binoculars the skipper 
proffered. Slowly the distant ships came up over 
the rim of the sea, bearing northeastward. 

“ Cruisers and convoys/’ said the lieutenant, re- 
turning the glasses, “ and one destroyer. They’re 
not American, sir.” 

“ Nor British,” replied the skipper. 

“ French, likely,” offered the mate. “ But 
they’re not making for France.” 

“ They’ll pass us well to eastward, Lieutenant,” 
said the skipper, “ and I’m doubting they’d want 
to stop, but if you say the word, sir, I’ll ask them 
to take you aboard.” 


199 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


The lieutenant hesitated. Then, perhaps catch- 
ing the eager looks on the faces of Dave and his 
companions, he smiled and nodded. “ Do so, if 
you will, skipper. I’d like to get back and make my 
report as soon as possible.” 

Followed signals with the Arabella , and half an 
hour later the two trawlers, having reached the end 
of their southward journey, parted company and 
the Good Venture hurried eastward to intercept 
the long line of ships that were now in fair sight. 
There were seven in all, four of them medium-sized 
merchantmen, two light cruisers and one small de- 
stroyer. As they drew near every glass aboard the 
Good Venture was in service, for every one was puz- 
zled over the nationality of the ships. 

At length the skipper lowered his binoculars. 
“ Got them now, sir,” he announced. “ Italian. 
Likely they’re out of their course by reason of 
keepin’ wide of the coast along of Spain. There’s 
been submarines very active west of Biscay of late. 
Now then, ’Erbert, look alive with them signals ! ” 

“ ’Erbert ” got immediately busy and a few min- 
utes later, by which time the Italian ships were some 
two miles away, the ensign and code pennant were 
run to the spreader. After a minute or two the 


200 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 


second cruiser answered and the mate bent on his 
signal flags with practiced fingers. “ We want to 
speak to you,” announced the Good Venture. The 
cruiser answered “ All right,” and wig-wagged to 
the destroyer, and the latter swung out of line and 
roared down on the trawler. As she came the skip- 
per’s face was a study. “ I say,” he appealed to the 
lieutenant, “ ’ow am I talk to the blighter, eh ? It 
don’t ’appen that you know Italian, sir? ” The lieu- 
tenant regretted that he didn’t. But he replied, 
“ I’ll try him in French if you say so. He will 
probably understand.” 

“ Do that, sir. I speak French myself, in a man- 
ner o’ speaking, but it ain’t the sort an Italian would 
make out! And as for ’is own blinkin’ lingo, 
macaroni’s the only word I know.” 

But, as it proved, the skipper’s alarm was unnec- 
essary, for the young officer who roared across at 
them from the bridge of the destroyer spoke re- 
markably good English. The skipper sighed re- 
lievedly as he took the megaphone and answered, 
“ We’ve got an American lieutenant and a dozen 
men, sir, from a submarine chaser as was blown up 
by a mine. Can you take ’em aboard ? ” 

“ With pleasure,” responded the other. “ Please 


201 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


ask them to be quick, sir. Will you use your 
boat?” 

“ Yes, I’ll get them over in ’alf a jiffy. Greatly 
obliged, sir ! ” 

Before he went over the side the lieutenant re- 
imbursed the skipper for the clothes they were wear- 
ing away, taking the money from a belt about his 
waist. (“Me for one o’ them things,” whispered 
Pete enviously. “ If I’d had one I’d be in mighty 
near four dollars right now!”) The skipper at 
first refused to accept payment, but at last con- 
sented and the lieutenant followed the men into the 
small boat. It was, Dave reflected, a fortunate 
thing that there was almost no sea, for that little 
tender was loaded down to the gunwales and shipped 
water whenever any of them took a deep breath. 
They waved good-by to their friends aboard the 
Good Venture and were presently climbing over the 
side of the destroyer under the politely curious gaze 
of four officers and, it appeared, most of the ship’s 
crew. They soon discovered that knowledge of the 
English language was not general aboard the Val- 
grana and until they went ashore at Portishead the 
next morning they had to make known their wants 
and conduct their conversation in the language of 


202 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 


signs. But the petty officers and men with whom 
they came in contact were flatteringly cordial and 
made it clear that they were anxious to do anything 
and everything possible for the comfort of the vis- 
itors. One swarthy gunner’s mate was fortunate 
enough to speak a scant dozen words of English, 
and these, to the envy of his companions, he used 
incessantly, somehow managing to derive a vast 
amount of satisfaction thereby. “ Uni’ Sta’es,” 
“ Presidente Veelson,” “ Betchoo life ” and “ Sure, 
Mike ” were his best efforts. Italian food was 
strange but satisfying and the 944’s men were served 
by themselves and with some ceremony. 

The Val grana had had a brush with a U-boat on 
the way north and the incident was described to 
them eloquently by waving hands and shrugging 
shoulders and expressive grimaces, together with a 
torrent of strange words, but, for his part, Dave 
didn’t get a very clear idea of that engagement. 
The destroyer followed her companion ships up the 
Mersey the next forenoon and they dropped anchor 
off Portishead about eleven, and the lieutenant led 
his disreputable crew ashore and herded them in the 
waiting room of a railway station. And there they 
stayed, observed with vast interest by most of the 
203 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


villagers, until they were piled into a train at about 
three and conveyed leisurely to Bristol. Owing to 
the fact that their mid-day meal had been extremely 
sketchy, they descended on a restaurant in Bristol 
like a horde of ravening locusts, and didn’t pause 
until they had worked devastation. How much 
their dinner cost the lieutenant Dave never learned, 
but it seemed to him that there could not have been 
much left in that money-belt afterwards! 

They w 7 ere billeted in a small and none too clean 
hotel for the night with permission to spend the 
evening as they liked but to be on hand at the station 
the next morning promptly at seven-thirty. As 
there wasn’t a cent amongst them, seeing the city 
promised to be a dull proceeding. However, Dave 
and Pete and The Pickle determined to make the 
best of a bad thing, and, if possible, derive some 
pleasure from an evening ashore. They were a 
trifle conscious of their unusual attire at first and 
were thankful when they reached a street sufficiently 
thronged to allow them to pass unheralded by all 
the small boys in sight ! 

“ Being a fishwrecked shiperman isn’t what the 
stories make it out,” remarked Dill sadly. “ I feel 
like something awful off a movie screen! ” 

204 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 


“ Gee, that would be great ! ” exclaimed Pete. 
“ A movin’ picture show, eh ? ” 

“ Fine ! ” jeered Dill, “ but just how do you think 
we’re going to butt in on a movie without a cent 
of money? We surely can’t get past on our good 
looks ! ” 

“ That’s all right, Pickle. First off, let’s find us a 
show. Do you guess these folks’ll understand 
United States? ” 

They did. At least the one Pete addressed him- 
self to did, and he even walked a block with them to 
point out the way from the next street corner. 
They thanked him and followed the indicated course, 
Dave and Dill amusedly wondering what Pete had 
on his mind. A minute or so brought them to their 
destination and they pulled up outside while Pete 
looked the situation over. It seemed that in Eng- 
land a “ movie ” wasn’t a “ movie ” but a “ cinema,” 
something that Pete objected to strongly. He like- 
wise criticized the lamentable lack of flaming and 
enticing posters outside the entrance. Except for a 
few dim lights and a wicket doubtless indicating the 
presence of a ticket seller in the darkened depths be- 
yond, they might easily have imagined themselves 
outside the entrance to anything save a “ palace of 
205 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


amusement.” Evidently the rush was over for, 
save for a few small boys who viewed our friends 
with growing interest, the place was deserted. 

“ Like the looks of it? ” asked The Pickle finally. 

Pete shook his head. “ It looks bum to me,” he 
said, “ but you can’t tell. It might be all right in- 
side. Come on.” 

“ Where ? What are you going to do ? ” asked 
Dave, holding back. 

“ See the show,” said Pete. “ Put a front on 
now and follow me up.” 

Pete advanced to the wicket, the others close be- 
hind. In the gloom beyond it sat a girl and Pete 
made a sketchy bow. “ Evenin’ an’ everything,” 
said Pete. “ Me an’ my mates would like to see 
the pictures, Miss.” 

The ticket seller fixed her eyes on the ledge, and 
then, as nothing in the shape of money appeared 
there, she asked sarcastically: “ Well? This ain’t 
a free show, your Lordship.” 

“ Sure, we know that,” replied Pete ingratiat- 
ingly; ‘‘but you see, Miss, it’s this way. We’re 
American sailors and our boat was blown up by a 
mine a couple o’ days ago an’ we ain’t got no money. 
You can search us, honest! But you just pass us 
206 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 


in, Miss, an’ we’ll be back an’ pay you, sure as 
shootin’. Or maybe we’ll send it to you.” 

“ American sailors, eh? You look it! Clear out 
before I ring for the doorman ! ” 

“ Honest, Lady — ” 

She must have rung, for the door swung open 
and a jovial and very red-faced individual in a white 
waist-coat and a top hat sidled into view. 

“ Now then,” he said cheerfully, “ on your way, 
boys, on your way ! Don’t be blockin’ the entrance 
an’ keepin’ the crowds back.” 

“ We’re the crowd,” explained Pete, “ an’ — ” 
He stopped abruptly. Then : “ Hello, Crim ! ” he 
blurted. 

The man gazed at him in a puzzled way for a 
moment. Then recognition dawned slowly, and: 
“ Why, ’tain’t — ’tain’t ‘ Rags ’ Rooney ? ” he 
gasped. 

“ You got me, Crim, but lay off the ‘ Rags 9 
stuff. I’m travelin’ first class now.” The two 
shook hands warmly. “What you doin’ here?” 

“ Showing Johnny Bull what a good cinema’s 
like, Rags. I’m running this joint. What’s your 
lay ? ” He looked curiously at Pete’s queer habili- 
ments and then at his companions. Perhaps he was 
207 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


thinking that his old friend’s objection to the name 
“ Rags ” was not sustained by the evidence ! 

Pete explained briefly and airily, and Gus Crim- 
mins’s eyes stood out further than usual, which 
means that they became positively protrudent. 
“ Think of that!” he exclaimed. “ You in the 
navy,- Rags. Why, say, the last time I saw you — ” 
“ Pipe down ! ” interrupted Pete sharply. “ Ain’t 
I told you I’m out o’ that? Don’t you know a swell 
when you see one ? ” He swung around on a heel 
and struck an attitude, and Mr. Crimmins joined 
heartily in the laugh that followed. Introductions 
followed, and then Mr. Crimmins said : 

“ Well, what are we standing here for, boys ? 
Come on in and see the show.” He held open the 
door and they passed through into the darkened 
theater, Pete bestowing on the young lady in the 
ticket booth a grave wink ere he disappeared. 
“ Come in the office,” whispered the proprietor 
hoarsely, “ and sit down unless you want to see the 
pictures. They’re old to you fellows, though, I 
guess. There’s a good one of Fairbanks coming on 
at nine, though ; 4 The Mixer,’ ever see it ? ” 

They followed to the tiny office at one side of the 
foyer, although, for his part, Dave would have pre- 
208 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 


ferred to have remained outside and watched the 
hilarious career of an elongated Frenchman who at 
the moment was clearing the roof of a Paris tram 
car of gendarmes by the simple expedient of kicking 
them into the street. Mr. Crimmins closed the 
door, found chairs for Pete and Dave, invited Dill 
to share the top of a little desk and beamed at his 
guests. 

" Say, Rags — I mean — what’ll I call you? 
Pete, eh? Didn’t know in the old days you ever 
had a real name. Well, it’s good to see you guys. 
I get downright homesick sometimes for a sight of 
Catharine street and some of the old boys around 
there. I been away nearly six years now and I sup- 
pose the old town’s changed, eh? I ran a movie 
house in Syracuse and one in Harrisburg for a while 
and then a fellow told me there was big money over 
here and I thought I’d come over and see. Well, 
I ain’t done so bad, considering the war came along 
almost before I’d got well started. They’ll stand 
for most anything in this town, so long’s there’s a 
laugh in it. It’s the Wild West stuff they like best. 
They just eat it up. It don’t matter how old it is 
— older the better for that matter. I’m showing 
them stuff that’s so old the films are moldy ! Now 
209 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


tell me about you. Where’d you cop the swell 
duds? ” 

During the subsequent talk, carried on for the 
most part by the theater proprietor and Pete, Dave 
gathered that Mr. Crimmins at the time of his ac- 
quaintance with Pete had been conducting a dime 
museum in lower New York, his attractions consist- 
ing principally of a tattoed boy and a snake charmer. 
Also, Dave gathered that Pete was a decidedly 
“ tough ” youth, with a propensity for fights, im- 
promptu or arranged. Mr. Crimmins recalled feel- 
ingly a certain occasion when “ Rags ” had dis- 
posed of the pretensions of one “ Feather ” Cronin 
to the east side championship in seven rounds in the 
loft of Hennessy’s stable. During these revela- 
tions Pete seemed embarrassed and stole depreca- 
tory glances at his chums and smiled a bit shame- 
facedly when he found Dave grinning at him. 

Afterward they went outside again and saw the 
inimitable Mr. Douglas Fairbanks play* the part of 
an acrobatic Providence in a southwestern mining 
town. At parting Mr. Crimmins begged them to 
come back and accept the hospitality of the Crim- 
mins domicile on the first possible occasion. v 
“ Want you to meet the missis, boys, and see the 


210 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 


kids. Say, those kids are all right, too. Three of 
'em. Great little tykes. What do you say ? " 

They said they would, and then Mr. Crimmins 
shook hands all around, and they made their way 
back to their hotel through a darkened city, and 
lost their way three times in twenty minutes and 
might have been wandering around Bristol yet had 
they not encountered a gruff “ Bobby ” who, seem- 
ingly strongly inclined at first to arrest them as 
tramps, finally consented to give them the benefit of 
the doubt and direct them to their domicile. They 
slept like logs that night and the next morning 
started by train for Holyhead under charge of 
Quartermaster Barry. Lieutenant Cowan vanished 
and was not seen again until they had been back in 
Queenstown for several days. Kennedy said he 
guessed the Old Man was ashamed to be seen with 
them. 

By the time the train — it was the fourth one they 
patronized that day — pulled unhurriedly into Holy- 
head they had, it seemed, visited every nook and cor- 
ner of England — and parts of Wales! Still, they 
enjoyed it, for few of them had ever visited England 
and their journey took them past many interesting 
and picturesque places. At Holyhead they boarded 


211 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


a small steamer, with some two hundred other pas- 
sengers, mostly women and children, and late in 
the evening stole forth without lights and breasted 
the waters of St. George’s Channel. The distance 
to Dublin, for that was their destination, was only 
fifty-odd miles, they were told, but the Port Erin 
was old and decrepit and made the worst of a fairly 
rough sea. That wasn’t a pleasant night, for there 
were only a few berths and most of the passengers 
had to sit up or sleep wherever they could find a 
space in the crowded saloon. Many of the women 
were ill and the stewardess had her hands more than 
full. To Dave fell the duty of playing nurse to 
two small children, girls of four ahd five, while their 
t mother, a young Irish woman, gave herself up 
frankly to the misery of seasickness. The Pickle 
lent awkward assistance, but Pete, in his own lan- 
guage, “ ducked.” “ I might talk to the King o’ 
England or the President,” he explained ruefully, 
“ but kids get my goat right away. I never know 
what to say to them ! ” 

The interminable voyage ended in the small hours 
of the morning, but no one landed until daylight. 
The three boys managed to snatch two or three 
hours of sleep after the Port Erin reached the har- 


212 


PETE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND 


bor, but at five-thirty they were seeking breakfast, 
and by seven were entrained again. They tried to 
get the quartermaster to miss a train so that they 
could look around the town, but he was visibly im- 
pressed with the importance of his duty and hustled 
them to the station at once. Irish railways strongly 
dislike straight lines, perhaps never having learned 
that they are the shortest distances between points. 
And the trains of Ireland are never bothered by the 
flight of time. It was pitch dark when the squad 
alighted at Queenstown and made their way to the 
new barracks, but the satisfaction of getting 
“ home ” again made up for everything. 

The next day they presented themselves for new 
uniforms and outfits and received them, and they 
also, by some miracle of legerdemain on the part of 
Quartermaster Barry, received an advance of wages 
sufficient to add to the self-respect inspired by new 
togs. They had, I think, all been prepared to pose 
as heroes on their return, but, if so, they were dis- 
appointed, for by September such adventures as 
theirs had become unpleasantly common. The 
Pickle sadly opined that he guessed the only way 
to get your names in the papers was to be killed. 

Efforts to discover what disposition was to be 
213 


♦ 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

made of them were vain. No one seemed at all in- 
terested in them. They took their place among 
numerous other unattached “ gobs,” with title to 
bunks in the barracks and three meals a day. Their 
companions from the 944 disappeared one by one 
in a most mysterious fashion as the days passed, 
but the trio remained to kick their heels about the 
waterfront until — it was the fourth day after 
their return — an orderly appeared with a sum- 
mons for Seamen Rooney and Garson to report to 
the admiral at headquarters. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD 

At headquarters they waited for some time in 
an anteroom. Through a door at one side came 
the clicking of many typewriters and they could 
see a small army of clerks, naval and civilian, busily 
at work. Others shared their wait — several offi- 
cers, an imposing gentleman with flowing side whis- 
kers and much gold watch chain who had the un- 
mistakable look of a man who had something to 
sell; an impatient, gruff looking chief machinist; a 
quiet chaplain with the rank of a lieutenant-com- 
mander, and a fussy little Irishman with a pro- 
nounced horsey aspect and — or so said Pete, who 
was sitting nearest him — atmosphere. Now and 
then a door at the end of the room opened and 
closed, they caught a brief glimpse of a broad desk- 
table, a visitor slipped out, and the group in the 
anteroom lessened by one. 

Their turn came at last and the door closed be- 
hind them and they found themselves, caps in hand, 

215 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


saluting a pleasant faced, elderly man with gray 
mustache and beard who, wearing a white service 
uniform, was seated at the broad desk they had 
glimpsed. At a second desk a younger man, a 
lieutenant-commander, was writing. The orderly 
who had admitted them awaited instructions and, 
after acknowledging the boys’ salutes, the com- 
mander of the American naval forces signaled for 
him to place a second chair beside the one that faced 
the big desk. Then, dismissing the orderly with a 
nod, he motioned to the chairs. 

“ Be seated, please,” he said. “ I have some 
questions to ask you that will occupy some time.” 
A buzzer sounded outside and a stenographer en- 
tered, notebook in hand, and seated himself near by. 
Dave could have smiled at Pete’s expression of awe 
and embarrassment had he not experienced some- 
what similar feelings himself. “ I believe you men 
were on Chaser 944 before she was lost recently,” 
said the Admiral. 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Dave. It was plainly evi- 
dent that Pete was not to be counted on at present 
for any conversation. 

“ And I think you had the somewhat unusual ex- 
perience of being taken prisoners by an enemy sub- 
216 


THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD 

marine and of later making your escape. Suppose 
you tell me how that happened.” He glanced en- 
couragingly from Pete to Dave and then nodded at 
the latter. Dave, twisting his cap and clearing his 
throat, began an embarrassed recital of the events 
leading up to their capture. He made poor going 
of it at first, for the knowledge that his words were 
being transcribed to paper by the busy pencil of the 
stenographer worried him, but presently he managed 
to forget that and his tale grew more coherent. 
Once or twice Pete gulped and seemed on the point 
of joining in, but each time his courage failed him. 
When Dave had ended the Admiral began to ask 
questions. By that time Pete had found his voice 
and between them they managed to give more or less 
satisfactory replies to about half of what was asked. 
It dawned on Dave that they had been horribly 
remiss in not gathering more information about the 
U-boat during their presence aboard, and perhaps 
the Admiral thought so, too, but if so he was too 
kind to say so. He asked about things that neither 
Dave nor Pete had thought of observing, and to- 
ward the last their constant replies of “ I don't 
know, sir,” became discouragingly monotonous in 
Dave’s ears. Nevertheless the Admiral seemed to 
217 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


be satisfied with what he had learned, and he nodded 
his head frequently with what they hoped was ap- 
proval, and at last signed to the stenographer to 
leave. 

More questions followed then, but they were 
purely personal. 

The Admiral asked about their homes, their 
length of service, how they were getting 
on, and several other things, and the boys, who 
had forgotten their awe by now, answered frankly 
and interestingly. Then: 

“ I think you men showed commendable presence 
of mind and courage under the circumstances,” said 
the Admiral. “ Some of the information you have 
supplied is useful, and I am glad to have it. An- 
other time, if there should be another time, which I 
trust there will not be, it would be well to remember 
that no detail of an enemy ship, either of construc- 
tion, armament, personnel or operation, is too small 
to be of use to our navy, and this is especially true 
of underwater craft, of which we know far too 
little, because of the fact that the enemy is contin- 
ually making changes in design and armament. 
This is not a criticism, however. You did very well 
and showed pluck and good Yankee ingenuity in get- 
218 


THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD 


ting out of a very awkward situation. You are 
without a ship at present? ” 

‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“ I’ll see what can be done. I dare say you’d 
like to hang together, wouldn’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” This was Pete, grown quite confi- 
dent. “ An’ there’s another guy — I mean man — 
we’d like to have with us, sir, if it could be fixed. 
He’s a Reservist, name o’ Dill. He was along when 
we hit the mine.” 

“ I’ll make a note of it,” replied the Admiral 
gravely, scribbling on a pad. “ The name is Dill, 
you say? The rest of it? ” 

“ Pick — ” began Pete, but Dave cut in hurriedly. 
“ Robert D., sir,” he said. The Admiral nodded. 
Then Pete said : ” Beg pardon, sir, but is there — 

would there — ” He paused, floundering. The 
Admiral smiled twinklingly. 

“Yes? Speak up! What else can we do for 
you? ” 

“ Well, sir, I was wondering if there was a chance 
for us on one o’ the destroyers,” he stammered. 
“ Him an’ me — an’ the other guy, too, — we’d kind 
o’ like to get on a destroyer, sir.” 

“ Why, I wouldn’t be surprised.” The Admiral 
219 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

looked inquiringly across at the lieutenant-com- 
mander. “ The Conklin is short, isn’t she ? ” he in- 
quired. 

“ I believe so, sir. I’ll find out — ” 

“ There’s no hurry, thanks.” He turned again 
to the boys. “ I’ll do my best for you,” he said 
pleasantly. “ Is that all ? ” 

Pete grinned. “ I guess that’s enough, sir,” he 
replied. “ Thank you.” 

“ You’re welcome, Rooney. But I had thought 
of something else. I like the way you boys slipped 
out of the clutches of that submarine commander,” 
he said quite warmly. “ By Jove, that appeals to 
me. I suppose you wouldn’t either of you refuse 
an advance in rating? ” 

They shook their heads dumbly. 

“ Very well. You’ll get it. Promoted to petty 
officers of the third class, Rooney and Garson. My 
congratulations to you. You’ll get your assign- 
ments in a day or two. That’s all. Good morning 
and good luck ! ” 

Both Pete and Dave felt it incumbent on them 
to say something, but after a glance at each other 
they only saluted and made for the door, conscious 
of an amused twinkle in the Admiral’s eyes and a 


220 


THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD 

broad smile on the countenance of the lieutenant- 
commander. 

Outside the building Pete drew himself up haught- 
ily, a wide grin on his freckled face, and saluted 
grandly. “ Congratulations, Mister Garson,” he 
said pompously. 

“ Same to you, Mister Rooney,” responded Dave 
with equal empressment. Then they began to 
laugh, and Pete sent Dave staggering with a slap on 
the back, and they joined arms and went down to 
barracks very proudly. 

It took them almost an hour to find The Pickle 
and the search led them over half the town, but they 
did discover him finally and joined him with set and 
serious countenances and very stiff backs and acted 
so strangely that The Pickle soon lost patience. 

“ Say, what’s wrong with you two ? ” he de- 
manded huffily. “ Swallowed a ramrod or what ? ” 

“ Are you addressing me ? ” asked Pete haught- 
ily. 

“ No, I was speaking to that other donkey over 
there.” Dill indicated a patient, moth-eaten animal 
hitched to a diminutive cart. “ But you may bray if 
you want to.” 

“What extremely low manners these common 


221 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


seamen have,” observed Dave to Pete. “To think 
that one has to associate with them, eh ? ” 

“Awful!” Pete positively shuddered. “No re- 
spect for their superiors either, the ignorant goats ! ” 
“ Who’s my superior, you ? ” The Pickle 
laughed scornfully. “Just because you’ve been 
talking to the Admiral’s orderly up there you think 
you’re he-men, you pieces o’ gear ! ” 

“ Pieces o’ gear ! ” exclaimed Pete, horror 
stricken, appalled. “ My word, Mister Garson. 
We ought to put him in the brig for that! A com- 
mon, low * rubber sock ’ ref errin’ in such terms to 
petty officers of the United States Na — ” 

“ Petty officers ! ” gasped The Pickle. 

Pete nodded condescendingly. 

“ Well, what — do you — know — about that? ” 
marveled The Pickle, awedly. “ Petty officers ! ” 
Dave tried to look unconscious of his new honor, 
but only succeeded in smirking. 

“ Well, sir, that explains something I never knew 
before,” mused Dill. “ It sure does.” 

“ An’ what might that be, my good man ? ” in- 
quired Pete, suspiciously. 

The Pickle edged imperceptibly away. “ Why 
they’re called ‘ petty,’ ” he answered sweetly. 


222 


THE ADMIRAL MAKES GOOD 


But The Pickle was honestly very pleased about 
it, and he had to hear the whole story from first 
word to last, for which purpose, now being the 
proud possessor of something like seven dollars of 
English money, he led them hurriedly away to the 
best of the small hotels that lie along the waterfront 
and seated them at a table. It wasn’t time for any 
recognized meal, neither breakfast, dinner, supper 
nor five o’clock tea, but that made no difference to 
them and they ordered a generous repast of chops 
and baked potatoes and ginger ale, and while it was 
preparing Dave and Pete talked a duet. And when 
they had reached their flight from the Admiral’s 
presence and brought the story down to date The 
Pickle filled a tumbler with the sparkling “ wine of 
the country,” as he called it, and toasted them. 

“To the two pettiest officers in the Service! ” he 
shouted. 

He was, or professed to be, incredulous of being 
assigned to duty with his friends, but ultimately 
he was forced to acknowledge that the Admiral had 
“made good,” for two days later Dave and Pete 
were promoted to gunners’ mates, third class, and 
Seaman Rooney, Garson and Dill were ordered to 
the destroyer Conklin. 


223 









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PART III 
STAND BY! 






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CHAPTER I 


DESTROYER “ GOBS ” 

On the 17th of September, 1917, word reached 
the British Admiralty to the effect that the Austrian 
torpedo boat destroyer Neusatz, which had been in- 
terned in the neutral port of Huelva, Spain, since 
shortly after the beginning of the war, had secretly 
refitted and, on the night of the 15th, slipped out of 
the harbor. As to her destination nothing was 
known, but the Admiralty assumed that she would 
seek to reach one of the German naval bases in 
the North Sea by keeping well to the westward of 
the British Isles and north of the Faroes. There 
was not the least doubt that the port authorities at 
Huelva had winked at the Neusatz’s escape, for 
Spain was then strongly pro-German. Orders were 
broadcasted to all Allied ships and to all agents 
in neutral ports warning them of the destroyer’s 
departure from Huelva and instructing ships to 
watch for and capture her and agents to report any 
227 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


news of her. It was not thought likely that the 
Neusatz would maintain her character of an Aus- 
trian ship during her flight. Rather, the chances 
were that she would pretend to be Italian or Portu- 
guese. But in any case she must not be allowed 
to escape, and in consequence there was much ac- 
tivity in various harbors on the 17th of September. 

At Queenstown the activity especially concerned 
the two new American destroyers, Conklin and 
Wood, which had within a few days dropped their 
anchors off Spike Island at the completion of the 
voyage from the other side. They were sister ships, 
numbers two and three of the new Stockwell class, 
of 1,270 tons displacement, 321 feet in length and 
capable of steaming 33.60 knots. Their batteries 
consisted of four 5-inch .50 caliber and two 4-inch 
.50-caliber rapid-fire guns and they carried four 
triple 18-inch torpedo tubes. They had four fun- 
nels and two masts and were camouflaged with 
“ sun-and-mist ” colors, pale yellow clouding to sea- 
green and pearl-gray, so that even viewed from the 
waterfront a mile away they were scarcely dis- 
tinguishable from sea and sky. Had it not been for 
the grimy lighters snuggled alongside the Conklin 
that recent graduate from the shipyard might easily 
228 


DESTROYER “GOBS” 

have remained undetected in the quivering glare of 
sunlight. 

It was the half-hour after four, and one bell had 
just tinkled from the many ships, big and little, at 
anchor, when the Conklin's winches hummed and the 
two big anchors came dripping from the mud. 
From two of the four funnels yellow-brown smoke 
became visible against the pale blue of the afternoon 
sky. Two long blasts of a siren pierced the com- 
parative silence and the U. S. S. Conklin moved 
slowly down the harbor. Many short toots fol- 
lowed her from the Wood , and were answered in 
kind, and on the decks of the two ships caps waved 
a parting. Between the two forts that make a pre- 
tense of guarding the entrance the destroyer slipped, 
the calm water curving away in two long symmet- 
rical waves from the high, stiff bow. On the 
bridge, low but set well forward, .Captain Gannett 
and his executive officer, Lieutenant Chapin, stood 
together at the forward windshield and kept keen 
watch of the channel. 

The “ gate ” of steel nets was open, but the space 
was narrow and certain egg-shaped objects were 
anchored in three depths below the surface to port 
and starboard, and the commander of a brand-new 
229 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


ship would do ill to collide with one of them ! The 
captain held the grade of commander and was phe- 
nomenally old for the destroyer service, having re- 
cently passed his thirtieth year! He had changed 
the gold leaf on his collar for the silver less than a 
month ago and was still a little conscious of promo- 
tion and secretly much concerned with the safety 
and well-being of his new command. In appear- 
ance he was short, stocky, blue-eyed and red-haired 
and held himself so straight that he seemed to lean 
backward. 

Lieutenant Chapin was a good six years younger, 
a tall, athletic man with good-looking, regular fea- 
tures, dark complexion and steady brown eyes. 
They were already calling him “ Beauty ” on the 
lower deck. The Conklin carried two other com- 
missioned officers, Lieutenant Penter, Junior Grade, 
and Ensign Whittemore, Medical Reserve. The 
first was head of the engineer department and the 
latter was the medical officer. One hundred and 
eighteen warrant and petty officers and men com- 
pleted the ship’s complement. 

The Conklin left the lighthouse on Roche’s Point 
to port and swung her nose toward Old Head. She 
was rolling a little now, and her high, knife-sharp 
230 


DESTROYER “ GOBS ” 


bow was tossing the waves away in cream-white 
foam. Kinsale and Clonakilty fell astern and pres- 
ently Clear Island detached itself from the shore and 
the Conklin swung more to the west. Fastnet Rock 
came into sight, a dark, jagged tooth rising nearly 
a hundred feet straight up from the tumbling wat- 
ers. The destroyer passed close to it on the sea- 
ward side, so close that those on deck could see 
plainly the form of the man who, from the lower 
gallery of the great stone tower, ran up the answer- 
ing pennant to the Conklin's signal. Strong cur- 
rents and wicked tides surround the Fastnet Light, 
while under the water needle points and ridges of 
rock lurk treacherously. Four and a half miles 
out to sea, it is the first light that the east-bound 
mariner raises and the last seen on the westward 
passage. “ Old First and Last ” some call it. Its 
light, sweeping seaward from a height of 159 feet, 
can be caught twenty miles away on a clear night, 
and its sky reflection is visible much farther. 

Dave, Pete, and Bob Dill, otherwise The Pickle, 
leaned against a starboard torpedo tube and looked 
at the lighthouse with interest. They had never 
been so close to it before, and perhaps never would 
be again, for the perils that lie in the neighborhood 
231 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


of Roaring Water Bay are not often courted. 
“ Must have been some job to build that,” observed 
Bob. “ Took them four years, I think. The little 
round affair on the top of the rock is what’s left of 
the first light.” 

“ What happened to it? ” asked Dave. 

“ Oh, they pulled it down when they built the 
new one, but it was just about ready to come down, 
anyway. It was an iron affair and the waves played 
hob with it.” 

" The waves ! ” exclaimed Pete. “ Gee, do the 
waves get up there ? ” 

“ So they say. How’d you like to ride one of 
them, Pete, and come down smack on one of those 
sharp summit rocks ? ” 

“ Must be some waves ! ” he grunted. “ Does 
the guy that ran up the signal have to stay there all 
the time ? ” 

“ Yes. Want the job?” 

“ I do not ! Gosh, think o’ bein’ up there in a 
real storm ! I’d be scared to death ! ” 

“ I read a funny story about a fellow they sent 
out there to do some work when they were build- 
ing it,” chuckled Bob. “ He was a plumber and 
they took him out one morning and set him to work. 

232 


DESTROYER “ GOBS ” 


He was to live there till the job was done. During 
the day it wasn’t bad, because there were other work- 
men about with him, but when it came night they 
turned in and went to sleep. That was enough for 
him. He didn’t sleep a wink, they say, and was 
scared green, and when morning came he demanded 
to be put back on shore. They laughed at him and 
then they tried persuasion, but it didn’t do any good. 
He was going home, and he was going right off. 
So, finally, when he simply refused to do another 
stroke of work, they had to signal the mainland. 
It was too rough that day for the steamer, but there 
was the distress signal flying on the rock, and so a 
lot of huskies jumped into the life-boat and pulled 
out, taking a doctor along. When they got out 
there and found what was up they wanted to kill 
the plumber. However, they bundled him in and 
took him back, and it wasn’t until he had his two 
feet set firmly on land that he got his color back.” 

“ Well, I ain’t blamin’ him much,” said Pete. 
“ I guess I’d a lot rather ‘ go over the top ’ than take 
that job.” 

There was a faint gleam from the tall tower be- 
fore it dipped from sight in the twilight, by which 
time the Conklin was off Mizzen Head and rolling a 
233 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

good thirty degrees. They had no use for the tables 
at chow that evening, and every one ate as best 
he could standing, usually holding tightly with one 
hand to something stable. They passed a pair of 
British torpedo boats wallowing south-eastward just 
as darkness closed down and nearly walked into a 
trawler a few minutes later. Only the latter’s fran- 
tic, gruff protests saved her from a tragic fate, the 
Conklin rushing past her close astern as both ships 
sheered from course. All night the destroyer 
hugged the coast, cutting the corner but letting her- 
self in for some rough going. The life-lines were 
strung along deck and one progressed by a series of 
hazardous rushes, clinging hard every moment and 
ducking under the seas that came aboard. Dave 
had the first watch, from eight till midnight, on deck, 
and climbed down at eight bells dripping water from 
head to foot. Sleeping was difficult, for it was his 
first night at sea on a destroyer and even the tiny 944 
had never in her maddest moment rolled as did the 
Conklin. The destroyer drew but nine feet — a 
few inches under that, to be exact — and there was 
twice nine feet above the water line forward, and 
much weight on the main deck, and in consequence 
rolling was the ship’s long suit. But it wasn’t until 
234 


DESTROYER “ GOBS 


Dave spent his first hour in the foretop lookout cage 
that he learned what the Conklin was really capable 
of ! But that night, braced in his bunk on the lower 
deck, just where he got the benefit of noise and 
stench from the engines, he despaired of sleeping, 
and it was not until he had rolled and pitched for a 
good hour that slumber finally visited him. When 
morning came he found that every muscle in his 
body ached from the efforts he had made, con- 
sciously and unconsciously, to keep in his bunk. 

They were out of sight of land at sunrise, dipping 
along through long, even swells at standard speed. 
There was a blue sky overhead and a nippy west 
breeze sang in the stays and aerial. There was 
gun drill for all crews that morning and Dave and 
Pete, assigned to No. 2 and 5 guns, respectively, 
were busy. The Pickle was seeking to qualify as 
signalman. In the wardroom, at the big table, the 
officers spent much time poring over charts and 
evolving theories as to the whereabouts of the Neu- 
satz } only they were calling her the Nuisance now. 
The chance of finding her before she slipped down 
into the North Sea around the Faroes or the Shet- 
lands looked pretty slim. Once in the North Sea 
her chance for reaching safety was more than fair, 
235 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


for, while a whole flotilla of patrols and scouts 
might be watching for her, the fogs were thickening 
over that stretch of troublous water these fall days 
and a much bigger ship than the Neusatz might run 
from the Shetlands to the Frisians, with good luck, 
and never be sighted. But the Old Man and the 
Executive and the Junior, and the medical officer, 
too, when he had a moment from his task of de- 
coding the messages thrust in from the wireless 
house, pondered and scowled, and planned and kept 
the Conklin kicking her way northeast. 

It was an empty ocean they sailed that day, and 
a big whale disporting himself in the distance was 
the only object to bring a flicker of interest to the 
lookouts. Toward midnight, though, a darkened 
cargo steamer answered their questions and slipped 
southward into the gloom. She would have made 
a fine target, as Pete pointed out, and it seemed too 
bad to let her go without a shot, he thought. The 
fact that, as Dave pointed out, being Danish made 
her a neutral had no effect on Pete. He was much 
in love with that No. 5 gun and wanted to see what 
she could really do. Besides, he complained, Den- 
mark wasn’t really neutral, she just played at it. 

Life on a destroyer was a good deal different from 
236 


DESTROYER “ GOBS ” 

what either Dave or Pete had fancied it. It was 
exciting, even when no excitement offered, for the 
Conklin had a fine, hearty way of throwing herself 
through the seas at anywhere from fourteen to thir- 
ty-three knots that always promised developments. 
The men aboard were in nearly every case picked 
“ gobs/’ and a fine, clear-eyed, upstanding lot they 
were. Most of them had seen several years’ serv- 
ice, some on destroyers, some on the larger ships, 
and not one that Dave ever found was willing to go 
back to the “ high decks.” The destroyer service 
is hard and it’s dangerous, but perhaps those very 
facts make it attractive. At all events, it is a fact 
that your destroyer gob looks with contempt on 
dreadnoughts and cruisers and considers submarine 
work no better than child’s play. It took Dave 
many days to get fairly accustomed to being con- 
tinually on the lurch. Moving about meant letting 
go of one thing to clutch another, and sleep when 
the Conklin was “ rolling fifty ” was a fine art to be 
attained only by hard experience. But he liked it, 
and so did Pete and The Pickle. Even being sea- 
sick — and they each had a bout of that during 
the first two days at sea — didn’t greatly dampen 
their enthusiasm. The Conklin was seldom dry 
237 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


above deck forward of her second funnel, for she 
had a contemptuous way of slamming her bows 
under and spilling the waves far back along the 
fo’c’sle break. Even the bridge was wet in any save 
the smoothest seas, and the new winter clothing that 
had been issued before leaving port was some- 
thing to glory in. Three hundred miles off the 
Hebrides in late September is a coolish part of the 
globe, and the apparel that made them look like 
Arctic explorers was never too warm for night 
watch on deck. 

The wireless rained messages into the ward room 
and the decoding officer used up many a pencil those 
three days. But the best news that reached them 
was no news. From the fact that the Neusatz was 
not reported either captured or sighted it was evi- 
dent that she was still at large and, it was fair to 
assume, as much the Conklin’s game as any one's. 

They began a series of east-and-west jaunts that 
took them a hundred miles or so back and forth 
south of fifty-seven. Once they went so far east 
that they heard heavy guns and had visions of a bat- 
tle until listening told them of target practice. Now 
and then a scouting patrol passed and exchanged sig- 
nals, but a gray destroyer in a hurry, with three fun- 
238 


DESTROYER “ GOBS ” 


nels, which was what every eye searched the horizon 
for, failed to show up. The Neusatz, it seemed, 
had vanished utterly. In the small fo’c’sle, two 
decks under, where, by the light of battle lanterns 
set close to the deck, the off-duty men played cards 
during first watch, and, safe from eavesdropping, 
spoke their minds concerning the officers, a theory 
was bom. It was Nicky, QM2C, who evolved it 
somewhat painfully under his auburn thatch as fol- 
lows : 

“ What that Nuisance has done is this, to my 
way o’ thinkin’, fellers. She’s gone a-raidin’.” 

Raiding!” scoffed Mullins, first class fireman. 
“ How long could she stay at sea with only enough 
oil to last her three or four days? And ain’t she 
an oldish tub, never doing much better than twenty ? 
What sort of a raider would she make? ” 

“ She wouldn’t need oil for more’n four days,” 
answered Nicky. “ She’s likely in the Bay of Bis- 
cay, putting in when she likes to one o’ them Spanish 
ports and gettin’ all the fuel she needs.” 

“ Ain’t Spain nootral ? ” demanded Mullins. 

“ In your eye ! The Hun subs have been dodgin' 
in and out o’ the Spanish harbors for months, and 
every one knows it. They goes in at night and gets 
239 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


oil and mail and anything they like and slips out 
afore mornin’. What’s to prevent the Nuisance 
doin’ the same, hey ? ” 

“ There’s something in that,” observed Craig- 
thorp, master at arms, third class, looking up from 
his cards. “ If the Nuisance has such small oil 
tanks and can stay at sea only four days, where is 
she? Unless some one’s got her and hasn’t re- 
ported. Or she’s gone down. If she left Huelva 
on the fifteenth she must have run out of oil two 
days ago.” 

“ She could store oil in barrels,” suggested some 
one else. “ She’d have to, anyway, to make the 
trip they say she’s making.” 

“ She’s raidin’ in the Bay of Biscay,” reiterated 
Nicky convincedly, “ an’ some day you’ll find I’m 
right.” 

“ You better climb topside and tip off the Old 
Man,” jeered Mullins. “ Maybe he’d like to know 
so’s he could beat it back down to Biscay. Anyway, 
you oughtn’t to keep valuable information like that 
to yourself. It ain’t fair to the Navy! Say, look 
here, you goat, a raider’d have about as much 
chance in those waters as — as you’ll have of goin* 
240 


DESTROYER “ GOBS 


to heaven. Why, there’s a chaser down there for 
every ten miles o’ sea.” 

“ All right. You wait.” 

Not being able to do anything else in the matter, 
they waited. And twelve hours later the mystery 
was solved. 


CHAPTER II 


A CHASE INTO THE FOG 

It was a few minutes after two bells in the fore- 
noon watch when the foretop spotter called down 
to the bridge through the voice tube : “ Smoke 

broad off the port bow, sir ! ” The Conklin was 
steaming north-northwest, gradually coming about 
on the western end of her cross-sea patrol. On the 
bridge the executive and a quartermaster captain 
snatched binoculars and swept the hazy horizon. 
The executive officer turned to the tube. 
“ Where?” he asked. “Can’t see anything down 
here.” 

“ Just a mo, sir ! ” answered the spotter glibly, too 
interested to be formal. “ Now she’s coming 
thicker, sir. Broad off the bow, or a point or 
so — ” 

“ Why don’t you say what you mean ? ” growled 
the executive fearsomely, as he turned again to- 
ward the indicated quarter. He saw it then, a few 
trailing streaks against the misty gray of the morn- 
242 


A CHASE INTO THE FOG 


ing sky. The QC had it too and silence reigned for 
a moment. Then : 

“ Better have a look,” muttered the lieutenant. 
Orders to wheel-house and engine room followed. 
The Conklin swung her bow toward the distant 
smudge and from her own stacks the smoke poured 
faster and blacker. She “ picked it up ” to twenty- 
eight and went boiling into the southwest. Hatches, 
round coal-holes just big enough to emit a man if 
he wasn't too fat, spouted gobs and the deck 
grew animated with conjecture and hope. Grad- 
ually the distant smoke took shape and then the 
ship stood up out of the sea and mist and glasses 
searched her from stem to stern. The Old Man, 
summoned from below, gestured disappointedly. 

“ She's not our meat,” he sighed. “ Four fun- 
nels. The Neusatz has only three. I thought for 
a minute we’d found her.” 

“ Me, too,” grumbled the executive. “ Wonder 
who she is ? ” 

“ Better ask her,” said the captain. “ Looks 
Italian to me. But I don’t know what an Italian 
destroyer 'd be doing up here. If it wasn’t for the 
four stacks I’d lay you ten to one she was the Neu- 
satz” 


243 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ She’s changing her course, sir,” called down the 
lookout. “ Heading west’ard.” 

“ H’m, looks as though she didn’t want to play 
with us,” muttered the Old Man. “ Run up your 
signals, please. Let’s find out about her.” 

Presently the colored flags fluttered from the 
foremast. Several miles still separated the two de- 
stroyers, but when the bunting on the stranger broke 
out it was not difficult to read the signals through 
glasses. Nevertheless the lieutenant muttered and 
the signal men stared, and : 

“ Something wrong,” declared the executive. 

“ He’s crazy,” said the Old Man. “ That 
doesn’t make sense. Tell him I want to see his pa- 
pers.” 

Again the Conklin spoke. Across the water the 
stranger kept on her way, heading straight into the 
west and losing no time. The Conklin roared and 
shook as she answered the challenge. Then tiny 
bits of bunting appeared in the distance and eager 
eyes read their message. 

“Italian destroyer Sondrio , eh?” murmured the 
captain. “ Why couldn’t he say so ? I didn’t see 
any number there. What’s the Sondrio 3 s number, 
Mr. Chapin?” 


244 


A CHASE INTO THE FOG 


“ Twenty-four, sir,” replied the lieutenant, re- 
ferring to the register. “ Seven hundred and fifty 
tons, length 290 feet, speed twenty-seven knots, two 
masts, four funnels.” 

“ Sounds all right, but — ” 

“ There’s something wrong with one of those 
funnels,” interrupted the ensign. “ It’s got a list 
to port, sir. Isn’t in line with the others.” 

“ You’re right,” agreed the Old Man, staring 
through his glasses. “ Must have been hit there.” 

“ Unless it’s a fine bit of camouflage, sir,” replied 
the ensign. 

"Eh? By Jove, that’s possible! Guess we’ll 
have a closer look. Tell him to stop his engines.” 

But the Sondrio was haughty. Three miles 
away, she answered that she was on special duty and 
in a hurry, and to prove the latter she straightway 
proceeded to leave that part of the world at the best 
speed she could manage. On the Conklin the Old 
Man grew red of face and sprang to the engine 
room tube, and in another sixty seconds the Ameri- 
can ship was doing every inch of her 33.60 and the 
foredeck was a wet place and the bridge scarcely 
better. But the stranger still had a fair three-mile 
lead, and beyond her a bank of fog was moving 
245 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


eastward and on the Conklin’s bridge uneasiness 
prevailed. Once in that fog the Sondrio might yet 
slip from them. Quarters was sounded and the gun 
crews, already hovering at stations, became busy. 
Ammunition boxes appeared as if by magic and 
were broken open, plugs swung back and bores were 
examined. The Conklin’s boilers roared and the 
long, slender ship plowed through the water at a 
speed that sent the wind tearing along her decks and 
flattened down the great clouds of oily smoke that 
poured from the funnels. She was gaining fast on 
the other ship, but that fog bank was drawing mo- 
mentarily nearer and nearer. Ten minutes passed 
and the three-mile lead was cut to two. At Number 
One gun the crew watched and waited eagerly, for 
they were to have the first word when the time came. 

Ten minutes more and the exec, was giving the 
deflection and ranges : “ Seven thousand, five hun- 

dred! . . . Seven thousand! . . .” 

The moments dragged. At last: “Are you 
on?” 

“On, sir!” 

“ Fire!” 

Number One spoke sharply and a five-inch shrap- 
nel shell sped on its mission of destruction. From 
246 


A CHASE INTO THE FOG 


the bridge they watched intensely. A column of 
water sprang up astern of the fleeing destroyer. 

“ Short ! ” muttered the Old Man. From the fire 
control came the correction. Number One’s plug 
closed behind a new charge. Again the sharp bark 
and another shell flew whining across the sea. But 
the other ship had all the luck that day, for the sec- 
ond shot was another miss, striking close alongside 
to starboard and drenching the deck but still miss- 
ing. And then, as though by a miracle, the fleeing 
craft utterly vanished from sight, swallowed up by 
the onrolling bank of gray mist! 

A third shell followed, while growls of disap- 
pointment arose from bridge and deck. “ Good 
night!” exclaimed the ensign disgustedly. “Great 
Scott, what rotten luck ! Down there, do you think 
you got her the last time ? ” 

The gun captain turned a sorrowful countenance 
upward and shook his head. “ No, sir, I don’t,” he 
answered. 

Silence and suspense followed while the Conklin 
plunged ahead toward the oncoming fog. A breath 
of cooler, damper air rushed across the bow and 
then they were in it and, from forward, the after 
half of the ship melted into nothingness. The sec- 
247 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

ond funnel disappeared and the first grew dim and 
spectral. “ A regular North Sea particular/' 
growled the Old Man in disgust, walking the bridge 
from side to side. “ It’ll last for days, or I miss 
my guess. We’ll take her north, gentlemen. It’s a 
bare chance that we may pick her up again when 
this lifts.” To the engine room went the order to 
slow down to twenty-seven, to the gun stations the 
order to secure. Half an hour later life aboard the 
Conklin was back at its former routine flow. But 
there was plenty to talk about now, and they didn’t 
neglect it. Chagrin was deep for a while, and there 
were uncomplimentary remarks passed bearing on 
the sighting of Number One gun. But hope re- 
turned at length. What had happened might hap- 
pen again. The morning had proved that the Conk- 
lins mission was, after all, something else than 
merely slapping the waves, that life was capable of 
holding tense moments. In short, the incident, as 
disappointing as its outcome had been, had supplied 
a new zest, and when spirits once began to rise they 
rose high. By noon they were convinced that For- 
tune would lead them back to the Neusats, for not a 
man aboard doubted now that the destroyer was in 
reality the craft they sought. Word of the sus- 
248 


A CHASE INTO THE FOG 


picious funnel had traveled below and aft and one 
of the signal crew averred with every sign of truth- 
fulness that he had himself seen that funnel flap in 
the wind! 

Followed a chill afternoon and night, fog- 
wrapped, mysterious, in which the destroyer, with 
“ kettles all lit off for twenty-seven,” plunged reck- 
lessly northward. Lookout duty was a grand farce, 
for one’s own hand was invisible at the length of 
one’s arm when night came. The sea was flat and 
oily and the Conklin held herself as steady as an 
automobile on asphalt. But the fog seeped into 
every far corner of the ship and things grew clammy 
to the touch and the few lights along the lower deck 
shone dim and reddish in the haze. But all night 
the engines whirred and clanked and dripped oil and 
the big boilers sang a frenzied tune, and another 
day dawned two hundred and fifty miles nearer the 
Arctic. But one must take the dawn largely for 
granted, for the world was still a gray void, and if 
there was a sun it was well hidden. Somewhere 
east and north were the Faroe Islands, but for the 
rest there was only open sea. There was a new chill 
in the air to-day, and olive-drab sweaters showed 
above the V’s of overshirts. The Conklin was no 


249 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


longer hurrying. Instead, like a man having an ap- 
pointment for an hour he was not certain about, she 
lazed along in the gray emptiness and changed her 
course from time to time. Spirits showed reaction 
to-day. There was something peculiarly depressing 
in that fog. Optimism was no longer rampant. 
From ward room to aftermost storeroom you’d not 
have discovered a man who ever expected to see the 
Neusatz again. Life was horribly drear and dull 
and monotonous, and a submarine slopping up 
alongside would have been a heaven-sent relief. 
But there was never a periscope built that could 
penetrate that gloom, and so even that blessing was 
denied them. There was much growling, and 
chow was poor and a man was a fool to join 
the Navy, anyway. At least a hundred normally 
even-tempered, high-spirited young men rued the 
day they had signed enlistments. 

But nothing lasts forever, even fog around 60 
north latitude, and Dave, on graveyard watch that 
night, saw stars peek dimly down through the murk 
before he tumbled into his bunk, and found sun- 
light and a cold, fresh breeze awaiting him in the 
morning. Spirits arose again. Even if they had 
missed the Neusatz, and it was a safe wager that 
250 


A CHASE INTO THE FOG 

such was the case, there were other ships afloat that 
needed attention, and life was not nearly so black — 
or gray — as they had painted it yesterday. Dave 
was swinging lazily from side to side in the canvas 
“ bucket of the foretop in the morning, viewing 
an empty sea with longing eyes. Looking down and 
back past the simmering funnels he could see the 
deck draped with damp garments drying in the sun. 
Nearer at hand The Pickle was earnestly wigwag- 
ging to an imaginary accomplice in the direction of 
Iceland, one of three of the signal crew who had 
yet to learn. On the bridge the QC was telling 
stories to the ensign. Everywhere ports and 
hatches were open to sun and wind, and the long 
four-inch gun on the fo’c’sle deck had been shorn 
of its canvas jacket and gleamed with an oily luster. 
The Conklin was taking life easy, and even the gobs 
lolling about aft had a sort of “ nothing to do till 
to-morrow ” air. Dave yawned and started a new 
survey of the encircling rim of the world. There 
was nothing to expect, only blue water, sunshot and 
dazzling in spots, a pale blue sky, and a horizon as 
clearly defined as though drawn with a pen. Even 
birds were absent up here, and flotsam scarce. A 
floating deck swab was something to talk of for five 

251 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


minutes to-day. Northward, emptiness; eastward, 
emptiness; southward — 

Dave’s eyes narrowed. He adjusted his glasses 
again. A moment passed. It might be a tiny cloud 
floating up above the ocean edge, but — 

He ducked to the tube. 

“ On the bridge, sir. Smoke two points off the 
port bow.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE FLAG COMES DOWN 

The Conklin's bridge and deck awoke to activity. 
Men climbed to vantage points and gazed eagerly 
into the southwest. It was many minutes, though, 
before the little smoke streak was visible from the 
bridge, several more before it showed itself to the 
deck. Even then it was so faint that indecision 
held until Dave’s anxious eyes caught the faint 
silhouette of a ship’s superstructure above the blue 
rim of the sea and his voice carried the news in tri- 
umph to the bridge below. 

After that the far-distant craft arose into view 
with amazing rapidity, but there followed a long 
period of suspense during which the lookout’s eyes 
ached as he sought to identify her as the destroyer 
they had lost in the fog. Meanwhile the Conklin 
was making straight for her, at less than half-speed, 
so that there might be as little tell-tale smoke as pos- 
sible to be seen. Bows-on in a sunlit sea, the Ameri- 
can ship’s deceptive hues of hull and masts and fun- 
253 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


nels rendered her well-nigh invisible to the approach- 
ing craft, and it was not until the distance between 
them was less than a half-dozen miles that the lat- 
ter showed that she had at last sighted the Conklin. 
As she lengthened in shape, swinging her nose north- 
ward, there were chuckles aboard the Conklin , and 
many believed that had the latter been able to shut 
off all smoke from her funnels the enemy would 
almost have walked into her arms! For all doubt 
as to the other ship’s identity was now dispelled. 
Bowden, chief master-at-arms, had taken Dave’s 
place in the cage and settled the question speedily. 

“ It’s her,” he had reported, with more emphasis 
than grammar. “ It’s the one we chased Wednes- 
day, sir ! ” 

As she presented a broadside view it was clear, 
even at the distance, that there was something queer 
about her first funnel. Every one agreed on that, 
although none could say where the queerness lay. 
It was perfectly spaced with the other three, was 
of a like size and height, and yet, somehow, was 
far from convincing. If it was a dummy, as they 
believed, it was cleverly contrived, for the glasses 
showed smoke pouring from it as the destroyer 
sought to show her heels. But the Neusatz or Son - 
254 


THE FLAG COMES DOWN 


drio, whichever she really was, was not the only 
craft with oil to burn, and the Conklin's boilers an- 
swered the challenge in a trice, and the chase began. 

Possibly the fleeing ship thought her twenty-seven 
knot speed to be equal to the steaming ability of her 
pursuer. If so, she was soon undeceived. At nine- 
forty general quarters was sounded on the Conklin 
and the battle ensign run up. 

At ten-twelve No. 3 gun opened the engagement. 
The first shot fell short, but the range gradually de- 
creased and soon all three bow guns were hurling 
projectiles at a distance of about six thousand 
yards. First blood went to No. 2 when a five-inch 
shell landed on the enemy's hull just above the water 
line and slightly aft of her fourth funnel. By this 
time the Neusatz had got the Conklin's range and 
shells from two starboard guns were dropping close. 
The first hit wrought havoc on the pursuer’s deck 
amidship, wrecking the torpedo battery and tearing 
a deep gash in the thin steel plating. Several of the 
crew of No. 4 gun were wounded, but only one se- 
riously. A second hit a minute later caused slight 
damage to the Conklin's port bow. The Neusatz 
was armed with four guns of approximately 4-inch 
bore. The Conklin was now steaming a quarter of 
255 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

a mile abaft the starboard beam of the Neusatz 
and pounding away with three of her five-inch guns 
with deadly effect. The battle was too one-sided to 
remain long in doubt, for the pursuer was firing 
three guns to the enemy’s two and serving them 
more rapidly and with much better effect. When, 
shortly after the Nensatz’s second hit, a shrapnel 
shell from the Conklin crumpled the enemy’s first 
funnel, revealing a wreck of gas pipe framework 
and painted canvas, a laugh traveled the length of 
the American destroyer. The Neusatz seemed un- 
able to hull her opponent effectively, her shots at 
first falling short and then sweeping over the deck. 
The latter caused superficial damage to funnels and 
structure, and one shell burst just aft the wireless 
house, carrying it away and wrecking a part of the 
wheel-house forward of it and seriously injuring 
three men. But that was the Neusatz’s last bull’s- 
eye, for an instant later her stern gun was disabled, 
and almost simultaneously a shell from No. 2 
brought an end to the engagement by smashing its 
way through the waist and exploding in the engine 
room. Clouds of steam rolled upward through the 
midship hatches and a cheer arose from the Conklin 
that deepened as the red and white ensign which the 
256 


THE FLAG COMES DOWN 


Neusatz had hoisted at the beginning of the battle 
came slowly down. 

The Austrian ship looked very helpless as the 
Conklin bore down on her. There were torn gashes 
in her hull from stem to stern on the starboard side 
and her main deck was a litter of twisted or broken 
steel. Oddly enough, her bridge, although swept 
with shrapnel, was intact, and on it, behind the flut- 
tering remnants of the canvas shields, her com- 
mander impassively watched the American ship 
swing out her boats. Beside him was the second in 
command. The crew was clustered forward near 
the shallow break of the forecastle, phlegmatic, 
silent, looking across with incurious gaze. From 
.amidship steam clouds still billowed up from open 
hatches and at the stern a trailing ribbon of smoke 
told of a fire below deck. The Neusatz s engines 
were idle and the crippled destroyer was losing 
headway as the Conklin ranged alongside and Com- 
mander Gannett, leaning from the side of the bridge, 
saluted his conquered adversary. 

“ What ship is that, sir ? ” he called. 

The reply was as expected and in fair English: 
“ The Neusatz, sir. To what ship have I surren- 
dered?” 


257 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ The United States destroyer Conklin . Have 
you any boats you can use? ” 

“ Not one.” The Neusatzs captain, whose coat 
sleeve bore the two stripes and crown of a German 
senior lieutenant, betrayed his nationality by his 
careful, guttural delivery of the English words. 
He appeared to be about thirty-four or -five years 
old, was of medium height, rather thick-set and had 
a square, red-tanned face. “ Our medical officer is 
killed,” he continued unemotionally, “ and we have 
many wounded. Will you be so kind as to send a 
surgeon? ” 

“ I will do so, sir. Are your engines disabled, 
Captain? ” 

“ One is. The other I cannot say of. We are 
also on fire aft.” 

“ Please muster your crew amidship, sir, and I 
will take them off.” The captain saluted and 
turned to give his orders. The Conklin carried two 
boats and four rafts, and fortunately the boats had 
not been seriously damaged. They were already 
lowered and awaiting the word to pull across to the 
captive ship. Dave and The Pickle watched from 
the Conklin's side as they traversed the fifty yards 
of water and drew up beside the Neusatz’s riddled 
2 58 


THE FLAG COMES DOWN 


hull. One by one the Austrian crew climbed down 
and took their places and when the boats were filled 
they pulled back. Possibly the larger part of the 
prisoners were Austrian, but there were undoubt- 
edly many Germans among them. As they reached 
the deck they were swiftly searched for weapons or 
papers and then passed below through the hatch. 
All told there were sixty-four who had escaped seri- 
ous injury. Eleven dead were later given burial, 
among them a sub-lieutenant and a warrant officer. 
Fourteen others were badly injured and were trans- 
ferred to the Conklin on stretchers. Counting the 
two remaining commissioned officers, who came off 
in the last boat, the complement of the Neusatz had 
been ninety-one, a number largely in excess of what 
the Conklin’s officers had suspected. 

Dave and Pete were among the party that, follow- 
ing the transfer of the prisoners, boarded the Neu- 
satz with fire equipment and spent a busy three 
hours fighting a stubborn blaze among the stores. 
That fire was too close to the ammunition to make 
the work comfortable and the detail experienced 
anxious moments. The task of fighting the flames 
was made more difficult by the fact that only one of 
the ship’s pumps could be used. Eventually, how- 
259 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


ever, the smoke-blackened and somewhat scorched 
fighters won their battle. Meanwhile artificers 
from the Conklin had been busy with the Neusatz’s 
engines and boilers and at five o’clock in the after- 
noon the ship was pronounced able to limp along in 
convoy of the victor. Temporary patches were 
made to the hull and the litter on deck cleared away. 
At dusk a crew of twenty-eight of the Conklin's 
men and fourteen of the Nensatz’s went aboard, 
under command of Lieutenant Chapin, the engines 
were started again and the two destroyers pointed 
their bows toward Pentland Firth, some three hun- 
dred and eighty miles east-south-east. 

It was then that Dave and Pete had their first 
parting, for Pete was among those assigned to the 
Neusatz and Dave was not. Dave watched his 
chum disappear over the side of the captured ship 
with envious gaze, for it seemed to him that getting 
that disabled craft to port was going to offer some 
thrilling moments. Pete waved a hand gayly before 
he passed from sight, and Dave and The Pickle 
waved back. The Pickle had managed to get in the 
way of a flying fragment of shrapnel and was rather 
proud of a bandaged hand and wrist. Dave, who 
had come through fifteen minutes of action at No. Z 
260 


THE FLAG COMES DOWN 


gun without so much as a scratch, felt himself lucky, 
but neglected. There were others aboard who had 
fared less fortunately. Three men had been killed 
outright on the Conklin and one, First Class Elec- 
trician Williams, had since died of injuries. Be- 
sides these, seven men were seriously and several 
slightly wounded. The Conklin's small sick bay 
was overcrowded and the injured overflowed into 
the lower deck passages. At dark the two destroy- 
ers were doing slightly better than nine knots toward 
the coast of Scotland. 


CHAPTER IV 


HEROES IN PORT 

“ Where’d you get it ? ” 

That was a pert, black torpedo boat, the next aft- 
ernoon, jumping across the Conklin's bows a half 
mile ahead and wigwagging flippantly from a peril- 
ous deck. 

“ About two hundred miles back,” replied the 
Conklin . “ She’s the Neusatz 

“ Congratulations ! ” The torpedo boat was visi- 
bly impressed. Perhaps a bit disappointed, too, 
for she added : “ Been looking for her myself.” 

Then, wallowing off: “Shall I report you?” 

“ Please do,” answered the destroyer. “ Am 
making Wick.” 

The torpedo boat said something more, but dis- 
tance and intervening waves hid it. 

They had had calm seas until nearly noon that 
day, but now, some 180 miles from the Firth, the 
northeast wind was tossing the waves high and the 
262 


HEROES IN PORT 

N eusatz was making hard going and the bilge pumps 
were busy every moment. Lieutenant Chapin had 
managed to keep near the Conklin all night, no mean 
task in the darkness, and with a starboard engine 
continually demanding tinkering, and at dawn was 
only three miles to the southwest. The sea got up 
more toward evening and the sun went down in a 
bank of angry-looking purple-red clouds that by 
four bells in the first watch had covered the sky and 
hidden the stars. The wind freshened considerably 
and the Conklin rolled and wallowed hard, and there 
was much anxiety aboard for the smaller convoy. 
They picked up North Rona Island about midnight 
and left Stack Island to port shortly after daylight, 
and when Dave went off morning watch a hazy 
streak eastward was said to be the Orkneys. They 
made Turn Ness before noon and steamed into Pent- 
land Firth. By that time they were in busy waters. 
Suspicious trawlers demanded their business and 
once a small gunboat labored near and held a long 
conversation. Past Stroma Island mine sweepers 
were working diligently and the Conklin was warned 
to keep well away from Duncansby Head. It was 
mid-afternoon when the two destroyers, victor and 
vanquished, came to anchor in Wick Bay, enthusi- 
263 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


astically welcomed by a small flotilla of patrols and 
trawlers. 

There the prisoners were landed and the Neusatz 
handed over to the British Admiralty officer, and 
the Conklin took on oil. She laid at Wick that 
night, the Old Man, who had scarcely left the bridge 
a minute for forty hours, sleeping the clock around, 
according to rumor. The next day they were off 
again, back through the Firth and then down along 
the west coast of Scotland, in a blue-gray mist that 
held the Conklin to half speed or less until she was 
in the Minch and hid the coast from sight. After 
that the sun came back and there was much to see ; 
islands that sent them wandering from their course 
and headlands that put them back again ; glimpses of 
mist-draped mountains and firths and lochs stretch- 
ing inland like broad blue ribbons. 

Dave and The Pickle tried to follow their prog- 
ress on a folding map that was eternally flopping 
itself back on its creases, and almost got lockjaw at- 
tempting to pronounce such words as Ardskinish 
and Kilchenichbeg and Maol-na-cala. There were 
more difficult ones, too, but they knew better than 
to attempt those. Pete didn’t take much interest in 
geography, preferring to put his back against some- 
264 


HEROES IN PORT 


thing — most anything answered — and fall asleep. 
For Pete, like all the others who had spent two 
nights and the better part of two days aboard the 
Austrian destroyer, was so far in arrears as to sleep 
that he despaired of ever catching up. Pete had 
twice attempted to describe that second night on the 
Nensatz and had twice been forced to give up for 
lack of a sufficient vocabulary. His attempts al- 
ways ended with a hopeless shake of his head. 

There was a U-boat alarm as they approached the 
North Channel, and the Conklin sounded general 
quarters and Pete became very nearly wide awake. 
But the periscope — if periscope it was that had 
greeted the lookout’s gaze — disappeared and Pete 
went promptly to sleep again, leaning against Num- 
ber Five gun. They met a long column of empty 
transports off Belfast, American ships of many 
shapes and sizes, guarded by four destroyers, and 
the Conklin was able to talk to some one again in 
her own language. The naval guards on the trans- 
ports waved their caps and semaphored ridiculous 
messages to the passing destroyer. The Conklin 
rounded Power Head the next afternoon and an 
hour later dropped her anchor off Queenstown 
again, and, oh, but the old town did look good to 
265 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


her crew! They were heroes of no mean caliber 
when they went ashore, and they made the most of 
it. For three days they threw their chests out a 
good two inches beyond normal and put their shoul- 
ders back so far that you could instantly tell a 
Conklin gob a block away from his similarity to a 
pouter pigeon! It is fair to assume that the Old 
Man, too, felt a bit cocky as he went ashore to make 
his report to the Admiral, and none of the crew 
blamed him. The only question in their minds was 
whether he would be made a captain or jumped to 
a commodore. There were some who believed pro- 
motion to rear admiral was the least he could ex- 
pect. As a matter of fact, all that did happen was 
commendation in orders ; except that the British Ad- 
miral wrote out a compliment of his own which was 
posted on the bulletin board. 

The Conklin underwent repairs and her gobs 
spent every possible minute ashore. There was 
mail for all hands, and many home papers to be 
read and not a few boxes to be opened. And there 
were many meals to be eaten in waterfront hotels, 
for it was surely a fine change to sit at ease in a 
chair and stretch your legs under a real table and 
not have the coffee spill down the front of your 
266 


HEROES IN PORT 


shirt. And steak and onions, and hot, heavy pud- 
dings, were a vast improvement on bacon and stews 
and canned salmon. A day after the Conklin got 
into port the Wood returned empty-handed from 
her search, and the Conklin's men lorded it over the 
Wood gobs and there was a fine battle behind a 
warehouse between husky representatives of the two 
destroyers in consequence. When the dust had sub- 
sided Conroy, seaman, U. S. S. Conklin , was lifted 
up tenderly and borne away for repairs, and the 
Wood's crew held up their heads again now that 
honor was vindicated. 

But the flesh-pots of Queenstown palled at the 
end of the third day, which should have been the 
last day, too, in port, and there were grumbles to be 
heard when it was rumored that the Conklin's re- 
pairs would keep her tied to a dock another forty- 
eight hours. They watched the Wood up-anchor 
and depart jauntily, her men waving derisive fare- 
wells and shouting insulting messages as she 
steamed past, and they watched the Conyngham 
slide up the harbor fairly radiating vanity. The 
Conyngham had, to use Pete’s disgusted report, 
“ gone and got her a little old eighty-foot sub and 
was so stuck-up you couldn’t talk to ’em ! ” That 
267 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


was all right, too, but if there were subs to be had 
it was time the Conklin was getting hers. And she 
wouldn’t be satisfied with any half-portion U-boat, 
either. If she couldn’t bring in a regular man- 
sized boat she’d bring none. So declared the Conk- 
lin's lower deck with appropriate emphasis, and 
meant every word of it. In consequence there was 
deep joy when the destroyer was at last again ready 
for sea duty, and the delight of steaming into Cork 
Harbor six days before was as nothing to the de- 
light of steaming out again. 

This time it was patrol duty, and the Conklin 
was assigned to a certain numbered square of the 
North Atlantic Ocean lying some 200 miles due 
south of Cape Clear. When their hunting ground 
was made known to them there was some disap- 
pointment aboard, for it was too far south for the 
lanes and too far west for German mine layers. It 
was felt that the admiralty was not giving them a 
fair show. The Pickle, however, suggested that 
perhaps as the Conklin was a newcomer she mustn’t 
expect the choice locations. “ I suppose we have to 
take what’s left,” he said. “ But we’ve got the sat- 
isfaction of knowing that the fellows who come 
after us will get worse places.” 

268 


HEROES IN PORT 

“ I’ll bet there’s a lot o’ favoritism in it,” said 
Pete, darkly. “ Look what we went an’ done. 
Nabbed the Nuisance when the whole blame Brit- 
ish navy and half of our own was tryin’ for her. 
An’ the Frenchies, too, maybe. Ain’t that some- 
thing ? What ? Don’t that show we know our bus- 
iness? Well, then, what’s the idea of shovin’ us 
away out there where there ain’t nothin’ to see but 
whales an’ altroboses?” (Pete never could say 
“ albatross.”) 

“ At that,” remarked Gooding, machinist’s mate, 
“we might make a find. Maybe the tin fish are 
leery of the old routes, now we’ve gone and clut- 
tered them all up with patrols. Maybe we’ll walk 
right into a regular blooming convention of them.” 

“ Yeah,” assented Pete, sarcastically, “ maybe we 
will. An’ maybe the best we’ll get’ll be the worst. 
Honest, fellers, I don’t believe there’s a quarter as 
many subs around here as they think there is. They 
see the same Hun two or three times in different 
places an’ they think he’s a different one each time. 
Stands to reason, don’t it, that if there was as many 
as they make out we’d see one now and then? I 
been fiddlin’ aroun’ here more’n a month an’ never 
seen but one.” 

269 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ I know fellows who’ve been over here since May 
and haven’t seen any,” replied Gooding. “ So there 
you are. Cheer up, though, Pete. The luck may 
change.” 

“ All I’m afraid of,” Pete grumbled, “ is that the 
war’ll be over before I have a chance to shoot the 
daylights out o’ one o’ the murderin’ things. Bet 
you if we do find one, Lanky, it’ll be off to port 
where I won’t get a whack at it ! That old Kaiser’d 
ought to fix things so’s we’d a better run for our 
money. I always said he was a piker ! ” 

“ The best way to find a U-boat,” observed The 
Pickle wisely, “is to get on a transport. It isn’t us 
fellows they’re looking for, it’s the ships with troops 
on them, or cargo boats full of grain and ammuni- 
tion and stuff. They’re wise owls, those U-boats. 
They don’t take any chances. That’s why they live 
to a ripe old age.” 

“ That’s no jest,” agreed Pete. “ Safety first’s 
their motto. I seen in a New York paper the other 
day where they’d got twenty-four British ships one 
week a while back. That’s fierce, ain’t it ? Maybe 
I’m wrong about it. Maybe there’s all the subs they 
say there is.” 

“ Those figures the British give out don’t take 
270 


HEROES IN PORT 


any account of all the trawlers and sweepers and 
small boats that are sunk,” said Dave. “ I guess 
they think that if they made a clean breast of it 
we’d get discouraged and quit.” 

“ The dirty, sneakin’, murderin’ scoundrels ! ” 
growled Pete. “ Know what, fellers? Well, I’m 
goin’ to get me one o’ them U-boats before I quit, 
take it from Pete! I’m goin’ to get me one if I 
have to cruise round this old ocean for ten years! 
An’ stoppin’ the war ain’t goin’ to make no differ- 
ence to me, either. I’ll be right on the job the day 
the kaiser and King George sit down to lunch to- 
gether! ” 


CHAPTER V 


“ submarine! ” 

They had the tail end of a southeast gale to 
buck against on their way out and the Conklin , 
though a much steadier ship than the older de- 
stroyers, did everything but stand on her stem. 
Dave put in a strenuous hour in the foretop be- 
tween ten and eleven that night. Whether getting 
up to the cage or staying there after he was up was 
the worst he couldn’t decide. The destroyer was 
plunging straight into the huge seas, banging them 
down on her fo’c’sle deck in tons, slapping them 
against the bridge in the shape of blinding spray 
and even tossing the spindrift as high as the cage. 
She slid down into a trough, leaning far to star- 
board, climbed up from it, whipping her mast to 
port, and then crashed into a wave with a shock 
that made her tremble all down her slender steel 
length. “ Rolling forty ” she was that night. 
Dave held on with every muscle in his body as his 
roost dipped from side to side and then leaned 
272 


“ SUBMARINE! ” 


sickeningly backward or forward. An hour of it 
was all any mortal could stand, and he was longing 
for his relief before his trick was half over. Never 
a light peeked out of the gloom, and the rushing 
shriek of the wind drowned even the noise of the 
waves pounding aboard. 

But getting below again almost made up for it. 
A cup of piping hot coffee in the galley — there had 
been a time when it would have kept Dave awake, 
but that was before he became a destroyer “ gob ” — 
warmed his chilled body, and he clung to a table 
and chatted with the cook who was deftly balancing 
himself while he scraped the dough for to-mor- 
row’s bread from the great mixer. Then he shed 
his outer clothes and climbed into his narrow bunk 
and, holding himself there by his eyelashes, as the 
saying is, heard the water sweeping past beyond a 
thin steel wall and the steady hum of the engines 
and the roar of the big boilers and the Swedish 
oiler known as “ Yonny ” whistling “ Pack All Your 
Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag and Smile, Smile, 
Smile.” Dave heard other sounds, too, such as 
Merritt, of his gun crew, giving an unconscious 
imitation of a slide trombone in the bunk above, 
and the tramping of feet on the steel plates over- 
273 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


head and, finally, the seven quick strokes of the 
ship’s clock in the nearer fireroom. After that 
he must have gone to sleep. At least he didn’t 
hear the watch changed, and when he awoke the day- 
light was struggling with the electric bulb in the 
thwartship passage. 

The first day on patrol was a stiff one, for the gale 
subsided slowly and the great, tumbling green seas 
tossed the destroyer about incessantly. The life- 
lines were kept rigged all that day and coffee was 
the only hot thing obtainable, since cooking when 
the range slanted at forty degrees to port one minute 
and forty degrees to starboard the next minute was 
out of the question. But hot coffee there was in 
plenty, and some of the men, foresighted persons 
who had laid in supplies at Queenstown, boiled eggs 
at the steam vents. But nothing happened. Now 
and then a porpoise startled a lookout by his fa- 
mous impersonation of a “ moldie,” which is a tor- 
pedo in plain English, and terns and gulls squawked 
sorrowfully overhead or splashed at the foamy sum- 
mit of a big wave. All day the Conklin ranged back 
and forth, up and down, sometimes passing the time 
of day with a distant patrol, but for the most part 
minding her own business very thoroughly, for the 
274 


“ SUBMARINE! 


sufficient reason that no other business offered. 

There was less roll that night and sleep was not 
so much a gymnastic performance, and the second 
day broke warmer and stiller, with only long surges 
to climb up and down. The sun came out shortly 
after morning chow and dried the wet decks 
and made warm and cosy corners for idle gobs 
to re-read their latest home letters in. Life-lines 
came down along the deck and one could walk from 
jackstaff to stern post without risking life. Dave 
was hunched on the deck beside No. 2 gun, in a 
patch of sunlight, writing to his mother, when a rude 
interruption came in the shape of a sharp cry from 
the bridge above, and a moment later the sounding 
of general quarters. As he had his life-vest on 
already he had only to thrust paper and pencil into 
his pocket and climb to his feet to reach his sta- 
tion. Having done that he leaned from the port 
and had a look for the cause of the excitement. 
Nothing, however, showed on so much of the ocean 
as was visible from No. 2 gun port, and it was the 
Human Trombone — otherwise Alf Merritt — who 
supplied the desired information as he hurried to 
his station. 

“ Periscope about half a mile off the starboard 
275 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


beam,” he explained a trifle breathlessly, being 
plainly anxious to tell it before the other arrived. 
“ We all saw it. They say it’s a big one, the sub, 
I mean. There were two ‘ sticks ’ about twelve feet 
apart.” 

The rest of the crew interrupted Merritt’s narra- 
tive and Dave was too busy with his duties to ask 
more. 

The Conklin spouted heavy black smoke from her 
four funnels, swung around on her heel and raced 
westward. But the periscope was gone, had, in 
fact, disappeared too soon for a shot to be fired at 
it, and even depth charges were of questionable 
value. Dave had more than half expected to hear 
the rending crash of a torpedo, but either the sub 
had not discharged one or it had missed its mark. 
A single depth charge was dropped when the de- 
stroyer had reached the approximate location of the 
U-boat, but it was a forlorn hope and brought no 
reward. For three hours the Conklin ranged over 
a twenty-mile radius, the lookouts never so sharp- 
eyed, but the submarine refused to show herself 
again. Finally the search was given over in disap- 
pointment and disgust and the destroyer returned 
to her former profitless task. 

276 


“ SUBMARINE ! 


Up in the wireless hutch a message was tapped 
off to the flagship a hundred miles away announcing 
the sighting of the U-boat and the incident appeared 
closed. Then, at half-past three in the afternoon, 
the same thing happened again. 

This time the two periscopes were nearly a mile 
distant and remained in sight, moving slowly on a 
nearly parallel course with that of the Conklin for 
some two minutes, during which time the destroyer 
again spouted smoke and dashed to the fray. But, 
as before, the submarine was coy and dived long 
before a shell could be fired. The Conklin wasted 
four depth bombs and hung around until dark. As 
the second sub had been sighted seventy miles south- 
east of the first the impression aboard the destroyer 
was that they had landed in a nest of U-boats. Dis- 
gust at losing two chances in one day was miti- 
gated by what seemed an excellent prospect of find- 
ing a third “ fish ” ; and, as, every one knows, the 
third time is successful. The Conklin swept east- 
ward to the edge of her patrol territory and ranged 
back again. At midnight a small chaser signaled 
from the darkness and asked for the latest news of 
the enemy. She, it appeared, had been dispatched 
to take a hand in the search. The Conklin replied 
277 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


with her blinker and the chaser disappeared south- 
ward. Dave's hour aloft came in the “ graveyard 
watch ” and he found more thrill than usual in his 
task. But his night glasses failed to show anything 
more than a far-distant light that flickered for a 
moment in the west and went out. It might have 
been a signal from a patrol or the stern light on 
an incautious steamer. At all events, it didn’t ap- 
pear again and Dave climbed down the shroud dis- 
appointedly. 

The next morning at an hour or so after the half- 
hearted dawn of a gray day the foretop lookout 
again electrified the bridge. 

“ Submarine awash broad off the port bow. 
About two miles, sir.” 

The frenzied general quarters alarm hooted 
through the ship. Buckets and swabs, brushes 
and cloths were stowed and the crew sprang eagerly 
to stations. The Conklin swept her sharp nose 
around and went piling south southeast, leaving a 
cream-white path of tumbling foam behind her. 

“ She has no conning tower, sir,” called down the 
foretop spotter. “ I think there’s some one on 
deck.” 

“ One of U-54 class,” commented the Old Man. 
278 


“ SUBMARINE! ” 


“ I’ve got her now. Yes, down through the hatch 
again. Ready with that No. 2 gun? What’s the 
range ? ” 

But even the five-inch was outdistanced as yet, 
and there was an anxious period while the Conklin 
fairly leaped through the sea. Every instant they 
expected to see the darker object, that looked like a 
sunning whale against the light and shadow of the 
tumbling waters ahead, disappear from their sight 
as mysteriously as it had appeared. 

“ Fourteen thousand yards,” announced the fire 
control. 

“ She’s stopped her engines, sir.” 

“ What’s your speed ? ” demanded the Old Man 
impatiently at the engine room tube. 

“ Thirty-three- forty-five, sir ! ” 

“ Hit her up ! Bust her ! ” 

“ Thirteen thousand five hundred ! ” 

“ There’s something on the for’ard periscope, sir ! 
Looks like a flag ! ” 

“ So there is ! What do you make of it, lieuten- 
ant? ” 

“ Flag, sir, and — and I think it’s white ! ” 

“ White ! White ! ” sputtered the captain. 
“ What’s it for ? Who ever heard — ” 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ Yes, it’s white. It’s wet and is half wrapped 
about the ‘ stick.’ ” 

“ Some infernal German trick, I suppose! ” 

“ Shall we try a shot? ” 

“ No — no. Hang it, you can’t fire on a white 
flag ! ” He called for slower speed and the Conklin 
eased up as she split her way through the dancing 
waves. The sun shot a long streamer of pale amber 
light through the gray clouds to eastward. “ We’ll 
have to see,” muttered the captain. “ She’s broad 
on, and I don’t think her class carries broadside 
tubes, but we won’t chance it.” 

The Conklin swung to starboard and presently 
back to port and so continued the journey zig-zag- 
ging. The submarine drew nearer and nearer. 
She was lying motionless save for the pitching and 
rolling caused by the waves, with both periscopes 
extended and a piece of dirty wet white cloth flut- 
tering weakly from the forward one. There was 
no sign of life aboard, but those on the Conklin 
realized uneasily that they were being closely 
watched through the periscopes. That the Hun was 
up to some trick was the general belief on bridge 
and deck, and when the Conklin slowed and finally 
stopped some yards away from the long, sinister, 
280 



The oars dipped and the boat headed for the submarine 





































































































































































* 












9 





















































































































“ SUBMARINE! ” 


gray steel hull every available gun was ranged upon 
it. The Old Man stepped to the edge of the bridge 
and put megaphone to mouth, and at that instant a 
round hatch opened in the middle of the slightly 
raised deck that took the place of a conning tower 
and a head appeared. The captain waited. The 
man climbed through and as he did so he raised his 
arms above his head in token of surrender. The 
Conklin looked on in surprise not unleavened with 
suspicion. On the heels of the first man appeared 
a second, and then a third, and a fourth, and each 
held his arms up and moved out on the unsteady 
deck to make place for others. How they managed 
to keep their feet on that wet, slippery, heaving sur- 
face was a marvel. Man after man appeared until 
the deck was clustered with them. Commander 
Gannett recovered from his amazement and raised 
his megaphone again. 

“ Where is your captain? ” he asked. 

There was no answer for a moment. Then a 
sailor pushed himself perilously forward. “ Kam- 
erad ! ” he shouted back. “ Kamerad ! ” 

“ There isn’t an officer in the lot,” muttered the 
executive at the captain’s shoulder. “ Deuced 
funny, eh? ” 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


" Speak English? ” bawled the captain, raising his 
voice in the unconscious way that one does in the 
circumstances. 

Again silence. The men on the U-boat’s deck 
seemed to be talking among themselves. Then a 
regular chorus of “ Kamerad! Kamerad! ” floated 
across the water. The Old Man shrugged his shoul- 
ders. 

“ Lower a boat and see what their game is. Pass 
the word to the lookouts to keep their eyes peeled. 
There may be another Hun around. Have we any 
one aboard who speaks their rotten language? ” 

“ Ensign Whittemore, sir.” 

“ Ask him to take charge and see what’s the mat- 
ter over there. Never heard of a sub insisting on 
surrender like this. There’s something wrong 
somewhere ! ” 

Over went Number One boat and the ensign and 
eight husky gobs sprang into it and were low- 
ered away. “ Let go ! ” ordered the officer in the 
stern sheets. “ Give way ! ” The oars dipped and 
the boat headed for the submarine. The Pickle 
pulled an oar in that boat and we’ll let him tell the 
story now as he told it to a group on the lower deck 
afterward. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE MUTINY 

“ They were a rum-looking lot, those square- 
heads, ” began The Pickle. “ They looked as if they 
hadn’t had a square meal for two weeks. Well, 
you saw them yourselves, so you know. But lined 
up on the deck there, with their hands up and look- 
ing down at us as if we were their long-lost broth- 
ers, they were sure a sorry, white-faced bunch. The 
way the skin was pulled over their cheek-bones and 
the way their clothes flapped around them got me! 
The ensign and Willet and I went down through the 
hatch and the minute we got our heads under we 
wished we hadn’t. The smell was frightful. It 
wasn’t just foul air or battery fumes ; it was — well, 
we soon found what it was. The ensign took one 
of the men down with us, a sort of chief gunner I 
guess he was, and he was so weak he fell the last 
half-way down the ladder, and Willet had to pick 
him up and put him on his pins again. 

“ There wasn’t any sort of a conning tower, as 
283 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


you saw, but you went right down straight into the 
central station. Things were in a fierce mess down 
there and it was half dark. On the floor alongside 
a desk with charts and papers on it lay the captain, 
dead as a doornail. He wasn’t a pretty sight, for 
some one had bashed his head in. The ensign 
turned to the Hun that was with us and pointed. I 
don’t know much German, but I managed to get 
some of what they said. ‘ What happened to him ? ’ 
asked the ensign. The fellow shook his head. He 
was a stolid sort of chap, about twenty-three or 
four, I guess. * Who killed him ? ’ asked the en- 
sign. Then the Hun said he didn’t know, although 
you could see he did. * That’s the captain,’ said 
the ensign to Willet and me. 4 They’ve probably 
done in the first officer too. We’ll see.’ He was 
a bit pale, was the ensign, and I didn’t feel any too 
good myself just then. The captain had been dead 
several days and it wasn’t very pleasant there. 
Why they hadn’t got rid of the body I don’t know, 
unless they were too weak to get it up the ladder. 
We found the next thing that the sub was a mine 
layer, for there were two wells on her, with mines 
in each ready to drop. 

“ It was Willet found the first officer. They’d 
284 


THE MUTINY 


shot him in his birth while he was asleep.” The 
Pickle shivered. “ Then we lugged the squarehead 
into the stateroom and showed him the body and 
he ’fessed up. As near as I could make it out his 
story was something like this. They’d left Zee- 
brugge twelve days before with orders to proceed ta 
some place off France and drop mines. The first 
day they were out the men found that she was poorly 
provisioned. They were most all old U-boat men 
and knew what they were up against. So they 
talked it over and put it up to the captain. Told 
him they hadn’t enough grub aboard for a week, 
let alone three, and demanded that he return to a 
base and stock up proper. But the cap said he’d 
got his orders and wasn’t going to turn back and 
a lot more, and was pretty fairly brutal. 

“ Things went on for three days and then they 
sighted a merchantman without escort off the east 
coast of Ireland and they got orders to give chase. 
Well, they wouldn’t. They were half-starved al- 
ready, not having had more than one day’s rations in 
four, and were desperate. So, when the Old Man 
threatened them with punishment for mutiny they 
thought they might just as well be hung — or shot 
— for mutton as for spring lamb, and when he drew 
285 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


a revolver one of them laid him out from behind 
with a wrench. As he went down they grabbed the 
revolver and did for the first officer, who was asleep 
in his bunk. 

“Inen they were in a bit of a pickle, for they 
knew that if they took the boat back to Germany 
they’d get short shrift. They talked it over and de- 
cided that the only thing to do was to surrender to an 
enemy ship. So one of them, a sort of chief petty 
officer, took charge and they set out to get themselves 
pinched. But it wasn’t easy, because you see, just 
as soon as they’d show themselves the enemy 
would start in to plug them without asking any ques- 
tion. They tried the trick by wireless, but all they 
got was the merry ha-ha. Every one who picked 
up the message thought some one was trying to get 
gay with him, I suppose. So yesterday they tried 
us to see what we’d do. They’d been following us 
ever since early morning. Well, we didn’t act 
friendly and their courage gave out and they beat it. 
But they kept us in sight and tried again in the after- 
noon. They’d put up that white flag of theirs, but 
it was always wet when they came up and wouldn’t 
do much but wrap around the periscope. Finally, 
this morning, they decided that they might as well 
286 


THE MUTINY 


get killed as starve to death. What do you know 
about that for a sea story? ” 

Although The Pickle had guessed at some of 
his details, he had got the facts concerning what was 
perhaps the strangest surrender ever made on the 
high seas correct enough. Meanwhile, however, 
the ensign had made his report to Captain Gannett 
and the Conklin got busy. The submarine’s crew, 
twenty-eight in all, were taken off, some of them so 
weak that they had to be lifted from deck to boat 
and from boat to sick bay, and the bodies of the two 
officers were carried up and unceremoniously buried 
at sea. After that, having very casually reported 
the capture by wireless, the Conklin made a hawser 
fast to the towing-hook at the submarine’s bow, and 
under orders from the flagship, set out for Queens- 
town. 

“ Huh,” said Pete that night, 44 I guess the Con - 
yngham ain’t got anything on us, Kid ! This prize 
we got’s a regular boat, an’ a mine layer at that. 
As our Limie friends say, * Wot price mine layer? ’ 
Only they’d say 4 Iyer ’ instead of 4 layer,’ wouldn’t 
they? Guess the Conklin's pretty bad, ain’t she? 
Guess she don’t do much for her country, eh ? Two 
prizes in a week ain’t anything to be proud of, is it? 

287 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Say, Pickle, take a slant overside an’ see if the 
Hun’s still in tow. I wouldn’t want to lose her 
after the trouble she’s cost me.” 

“ You, you flat-foot! What did you have to do 
with it?” asked Dill. 

“ What did I have to — Say, didn’t you know 
that I had the little old Number 5 trained right on 
the geometricous center of that tin fish? If it 
hadn’t been for me those bloody-minded murderers 
would have killed you an’ all the rest of your 
boardin’ party ! What did I do, says he ! Huh ! ” 

“ Maybe you’ll begin to believe that there are 
such things as German submarines after all, Pete,” 
.suggested Dave. 

“ Sure ! I always did believe it. Only I say 
there ain’t so many as folks think. Why, look here, 
now, don’t what happened yesterday and to-day 
prove it? When we seen that submarine the sec- 
ond time every one thought she was a new one, didn’t 
they? Same thing this mornin’. I heard you fel- 
lers sayin’ ‘ Gee, but that’s funny ! Three in two 
-days!’ Well, she was the same little Hun all the 
time, wasn’t she? Just followed us around she did. 
That’s what I was sayin’ the other day. Folks see 
the same sub twice an’ put it down for two ! ” 

288 


THE MUTINY 


“ You win/’ laughed The Pickle. “ What gets 
me, though, is how they managed to follow us last 
night in the dark.” 

“ I don’t believe they did,” replied Dave. “ They 
knew we were on patrol and all they had to do was 
wait for us to come back on the next course.” 

“ That’s it, I guess. Well, anyway, it’s a queer 
business. What do you suppose will happen to 
those poor hoboes ? ” 

“ They’d ought to be shot at sunrise,” answered 
Pete, unfeelingly, “ but they won’t be. They’ll be 
put in a nice, steam-heated prison camp an’ took 
care of till the row’s over. I don’t know as I blame 
’em a whole lot for killin’ off the officers, if the 
officers were like what you hear tales of, but I don’t 
just admire ’em for it.” 

“ The Old Man got a fine lot of papers and books 
and truck like that,” said The Pickle reflectively. 
“ He was as pleased as Punch about it and he and 
the executive are up in the ward room now having a 
lovely time with them. We got a copy of their se- 
cret code and a lot of interesting stuff. Looks to 
me as if the Old Man would find himself in about 
right with the Admiral pretty soon. Wait till we 
get ashore and rub it into the Wood crowd.” 

289 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Pete chuckled, “ Yeah,” he said. “ Wait till I 
tell Quinn, that slant-eyed, lantern-jawed cox o’ 
theirs. Maybe it won’t take the wind out of his 
sails.” 

“ It would be funny, though, wouldn’t it,” sug- 
gested Dave, “ if the Wood got back there with a 
sub, too.” 

Pete observed him disapprovingly and The Pickle 
with sorrow. 

“ Gee, you can think of more punk things to 
say, Kid,” remonstrated the latter. “ Gloom must 
be your middle name.” 

The Conklin glided into harbor the next morn- 
ing very proudly and towed her grim, gray prize 
fairly under the noses of five American and one 
British destroyer before she came to anchor. On 
the main deck every gob who could get there 
stood negligently and boredly as congratulatory 
messages came from the bridges of the other ships. 
Their attitude asked plainly : “ Why so much tur- 

moil about a mere U-boat? It’s an old story with 
us.” 

That attitude vexed the Plaisted’s gobs and 
they made derogatory remarks in voices inaudible to 
the bridge, but heard on the Conklin’s deck, and ges- 
290 


THE MUTINY 

tured derision. “ Where’d you get the old cook 
stove, Conk?” 

“ What’s that you’re towin’, partner? Some new 
kind of patent log? ” “ Did the Kaiser make you a 

present of it?” “Say, fellers, see what the cat’s 
brought in.” But the Conklin men only smiled in 
serene contempt. They could afford to let the en- 
vious world gibe. 

The Wood wasn’t in port when the Conklin ar- 
rived, and so Pete had to wait two days for the 
pleasure of crowing over Coxswain Quinn. But 
perhaps it was worth waiting for, for if Pete’s con- 
dition when he returned to the ship that afternoon 
was any sign he must have had a thoroughly good 
time. He seemed very desirous of avoiding the 
gaze of the officer of the deck and plunged below so 
rapidly that he scraped some of the skin from his 
ribs. But a little more lost skin was of small 
moment to one who had already parted with so 
much! In short, Pete was a cheerful wreck, and 
raw beef secured from the galley and much plaster 
from his first aid kit failed to make him more than 
half presentable. But no questions were asked by 
the executive, and the Old Man, catching a glimpse 
of Pete the next morning from the bridge ladder, 
291 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


only smiled and went on up. It was by that time 
generally known throughout the ship that the Wood 
would be short the services of a coxswain for one or 
two days. Neither Dave nor The Pickle were wit- 
nesses of that encounter, but those who were feel- 
ingly pronounced it the best battle of the war up to 
date ! 

The Conklin spent one more day of idleness and 
then pulled up her hooks and set forth again for 
her mission of “ making the wodd safe for the dem- 
ocrats, ” as Pete phrased it. But this time it was not 
patrol duty that called her. “ Special and distant 
service ” was the word that went around below 
deck. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 

The Conklin left Queenstown just at dusk and 
steamed straight across the mouth of the channel, 
and at daybreak was skirting the tip of the Cornish 
coast, with the Scilly Islands faint blurs to the west- 
ward. Later they passed Lizard Head in a sea so 
smooth that it was hard to believe the tales they 
had heard all their lives of the treacherous nature 
of that coast. The frowning cliffs of Cornwall 
were in plain sight for an hour, and then the tall 
white tower of Eddystone Light rose off the port 
bow. The Pickle, who seemed for some reason to 
be a walking compendium of lighthouse informa- 
tion, entertained Dave and Pete with the story of 
the Admiralty’s attempts, dating back nearly a hun- 
dred and fifty years, to build a beacon on that 
sinister reef which, some ten miles from the nearest 
point of the mainland, stretches for hundreds of 
yards across the ship thoroughfare and obstructs 
the approach to Plymouth from the channel side. 
293 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


Many vessels have struck there. At one point the 
submerged ridge throws a few battered granite rocks 
above the eddying waves at low tide, from which 
fact came the name of “ eddystones.” 

“Away back at the beginning of things/' said 
The Pickle, gazing across at the slender tower, “ a 
man whose name I forget got the notion that there 
ought to be a light on that reef and that he was 
the Johnny to put it there. So they told him to go 
ahead. Well, he stuck up a queer Chinese pagoda 
effect of wood and slathered it all over with carv- 
ings and gilt. Maybe his idea was to scare the 
waves away. Anyway, they say it was a fearsome 
looking contraption when it was done. It took him 
three or four years to do it, and when he had the 
wise guys around here said it wouldn’t stand the first 
hard gale. But this Johnny said he knew better and 
that he hoped he might be in the tower when that 
gale arrived. Every one gets his wish once in a 
lifetime, and it was this fellow’s turn to get his. 
When the gale did come he and five keepers were 
out there in the pagoda. When the folks in Ply- 
mouth looked out the next morning to see how the 
beacon had got through the storm there wasn’t any 
beacon.” 


294 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 


“Gee!” said Pete. “Did they drown?” 

“ So they suppose. Anyway, they weren’t 
around. After that another wooden tower went up 
and stayed quite a while ; forty years, I think it was. 
It was built so well that it might be there yet if it 
hadn’t caught on fire from the lantern one day 
and burned down. They had trouble in building it 
that time because England and France were at war, 
and the French privateers kept them on the jump. 
One time a French boat caught them napping and 
took off the whole force as prisoners of war and 
carried them back to France. But when the king 
heard of it — Louis the Somethingth, I guess — he 
got peeved with the smart Alecks. ‘ What those 
guys were doing was for our benefit as well as Eng- 
land’s. I’m at war with the perfidious Albion ’ — or 
words to that effect — 4 but not with humanity.’ 
After which he handed himself a round of applause, 
had the smart Alecks put in the stocks and sent the 
lighthouse folks back to their little ledge with a lot 
of presents.” 

“ What sort of presents? ” asked Dave. 

“I don’t know; a couple of gold chains and a 
bag of ducats and a package of 4 fags,’ maybe; 
the usual thing. Read your history and find out. 
295 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


That was number two lighthouse. Number three 
was of stone and stood up about a hundred and 
twenty-five years. Then the cement began to go 
west and they put up the present light alongside it. 
This one is a hundred and thirty feet from base to 
light. Anything else I can tell you about light- 
houses ? ” 

“Yeah,” said Pete, “you can tell me how much 
lighthouse keeping costs in England compared with 
light housekeeping in New York.” 

“New York? Lighthouse keep — Oh, I get 
you, Pete! And that’ll be about all from you, 
son ! ” 

Soon after they entered the English Channel, and 
during the day, keeping well in toward the English 
coast, passed numerous points of interest which, 
unfortunately, were too far distant to be more than 
faintly descried. Their course did, however, lead 
them close to the Isle of Wight and the entrance to 
Portsmouth Harbor. Pete made The Pickle’s life 
something of a burden to him by demanding infor- 
mation about every little lighthouse or beacon that 
they glimpsed. But if they saw little of the south- 
ern coast of England they saw a lot of the English 
navy in the shape of mine sweepers and layers, naval 
296 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 


tugs, patrols, torpedo boats, destroyers, and cruis- 
ers. And once, off the Bill of Portland, they passed 
within a half mile of a super-dreadnought steaming 
sedately down channel, a huge and wicked-looking 
sea mammoth indeed. 

There was a deal of speculation as to the Conklin's. 
mission and destination and all sorts of guesses were 
made. The favorite one was that they were to 
rendezvous with a part of their own or the British 
fleet and make an attack on one of the German naval 
bases in the North Sea. Consequently, when, at 
dawn, they found the destroyer snugly anchored in 
the Thames estuary, with Taynham on one side and 
Sheppy Island on the other, they were a disap- 
pointed lot. Only the fact that London lay but 
forty miles distant by railway and the rumor that 
they were to stay where they were for several days, 
brought comfort. Nearby a group of small tugs 
and big launches were huddled around a stone quay 
from which a very busy signal station stuck up like 
a sore thumb. Now and then a tug or launch 
would put hurriedly away toward the sea, or a bevy 
of them would start off on some mysterious but 
evidently vastly important mission. There was no 
liberty for the destroyer’s gobs that day and they 
297 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


spent a rather bored time watching the various craft 
coming and going past the point of the island. 
The next morning they went on up to Chatham, 
where there was a considerable British naval base, 
and snuggled up to a dock, alongside a small black 
cruiser. Then it was made known that the Conklin 
would remain at Chatham for two days and liberty 
was granted for thirty-six hours. Many took ad- 
vantage of that to make the trip to London, and 
Dave and Pete were all for joining the party until 
they learned that The Pickle had other plans. 

“ You fellows go along,” said Dill. “ It wouldn’t 
be much fun for me. I’ve seen the old town twice 
and, besides, I’m pretty nearly broke, and it costs 
like thunder to stay around London even over 
night.” 

“ Hadn’t thought of that,” mused Pete. “ I’m 
about stoney myself. How about you, Kid? ” 

“ I can lend you a couple of dollars,” answered 
Dave. “ Bob, too, if he will come. But I’m not 
horribly rich just now.” 

“ Maybe we’ll have another chance to see the 
place,” said Pete. “ It wouldn’t be much fun with- 
out plenty o’ 4 berries.’ Ain’t there some other 
place around here ? ” 


298 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 


u Come with me,” said The Pickle. “ I’ve got 
some English friends at a little town called Grad- 
ford, about forty or fifty miles from here in Sussex. 
I suppose they’re still there, because English folks 
never move the way we do, and they’d be mighty 
glad to see you fellows. What do you say? ” 

Pete looked dubious. “ I ain’t much on the so- 
ciety game, Pickle,” he replied. “ Better leave me 
out, I guess.” 

“ Nonsense, the Wylies are just nice plain folks 
and you’d like them immensely. We met them in 
Switzerland one year and they stayed with us at 
Westport a couple of weeks summer before last. 
They made me promise to visit them the first time 
I was in England.” 

“ Yeah, an’ bring all your friends,” said Pete 
sarcastically. “ I guess they’d be awfully chawmed, 
what ? Say, you piece o’ gear, don’t you know folks 
in this country can’t get enough to eat themselves, 
without feedin’ three hungry gobs ? ” 

** Oh, I guess it isn’t that bad,” laughed The 
Pickle. “ English folks always have plenty of par- 
snips on hand.” 

“ Parsnips. Gee, I never could eat parsnips. 
You and the Kid take a chance. I’m off of it.” 


299 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ No, you’re not. Listen, Pete. I asked a chap 
on the cruiser about Gradford and he says there’s 
a train at eleven as far as Rochester. Then you 
change and go to Maidstone, and from there to — 
I think it was Turnbridge he said. Anyway, you 
change again there and go right on to Gradford.” 

“ Well, it would be a change, all right,” chuckled 
Pete. “ How long does all this take you? Would 
you get there to-day or to-morrow ? ” 

“ About four this afternoon, he thought.” 

“ Gee, forty miles in five hours! I'd be afraid 
to travel as fast as that.” 

“ I guess the connections aren’t very close,” ex- 
plained The Pickle. “ Come on ! Be a sport, Pete ! 
You’ll go, Kid?” 

“ I’d love it, but — it seems sort of cheeky, doesn’t 
it, Bob? Would we stay overnight? ” 

“ Sure ! They’d be tickled to death to have us. 
There’s only Mr. and Mrs. Wylie and a kid son and 
a girl about ten. Nice folks, fellows. You’ll like 
them. Go on and get into your dress togs and 
pretty yourselves up. I’ll find out about the liberty 
boat.” 

“ Yeah,” answered Pete. “ I’ll be so pretty you 
won’t know me. Got any freckle lotion, Kid? ” 

3 °° 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 

At nine-thirty they were dumped on shore, with 
an hour and a half to wait before their train left. 
That, however, didn’t bother them. Chatham 
proved a busy town and they found much to inter- 
est them. Not long before a German air raid had 
passed over the little city, leaving death and devasta- 
tion in its wake, and their wanderings led them to- 
the marine barracks now in process of reconstruc- 
tion, which had been bombed with a loss of over a 
hundred lives. Pete had a good deal to say on the 
subject of that particular kind of warfare, but, while 
not uninteresting, it was too emphatic to bear repe- 
tition. Their train crawled out of the station at n 
and they found themselves in a crowded third-class 
carriage. English railway travel was novel to both 
Dave and Pete, and their frank conversations 
amused The Pickle all the way to Rochester. Here 
they found that they were in for an hour’s wait for 
the next train, which was to take them as far as 
Maidstone. A communicative official explained 
that in pre-war times they would have gone right 
through, but that nowadays travel was “ fair dis- 
rupted.” But they were all in holiday mood and 
didn’t mind the delay. Rochester appeared a quiet 
place after Chatham, but they explored so much of 
3 QI 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


it as was not too far from the station and found 
plenty to see. The Maidstone train was late in leav- 
ing and it was one-thirty when they again changed. 
The station buffet supplied them with luncheon and 
at two-twelve they were on their way once more. 
There was one more change and one more wait, and 
finally, at just before five o’clock, they descended 
at a tiny station which the guard assured them was 
Gradford. 

There was so little in sight from the platform 
save scenery that Pete cast a longing look after the 
disappearing train. An elderly man, who appeared 
to combine the duties of station agent, baggage agent 
and porter, listened to their inquiry with a hand 
cupped behind one ear. Then, in silence, he led 
them to the back of the station and pointed to a 
country road that went winding off toward the west. 

“ It be a matter o’ five mile,” he informed them. 
“ Keep to that road till ’e come to another. Pay no 
heed to that, sirs, but keep straight along till ’e 
comes to a bridge. That be Gradbridge. The Wy- 
lies’ place be a mile beyond. Best ask your way, 
sirs, if so be you meet folks.” 

“ Five miles,” demurred The Pickle. “ How 
about a carriage — I mean a trap? ” 

302 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 


But the man shook his head, looking, Dave 
thought, a trifle disapproving. It appeared that 
there were no traps to be hired thereabouts and that 
the telephone was not yet in general use in that part 
of England. Ultimately they set off afoot. After 
all, as Dave pointed out, five miles wasn't much of a 
walk for three husky “ gobs,” and probably they’d 
reach their destination in plenty of time for dinner. 
Pete, however, showed scant enthusiasm and had a 
good deal to say about missing “ ahfternoon tea.” 
Missing his tea, it seemed, always upset him fright- 
fully. 

It wasn’t a bad road, and it was certainly pic- 
turesque until, after a mile or so, it began to run 
between high banks that quite cut off any view. 
The evening was still and warm and a light mist 
hung over the countryside and they walked on into 
an amber glow from the setting sun. A forest gave 
them cooler air and they sat down by the way for 
a while and rested. So far they had met no one 
and when, presently, a two-wheeled cart rattled into 
sight it was quite a momentous event. 

“ Guess we’d better ask if we’re right so far,” 
said The Pickle, and got to his feet. But in spite 
of his very evident wish to speak, the occupant of 
303 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


the cart, a heavy, dark-complexioned man with a 
long brown coat, applied the whip to the horse and 
dashed by them without drawing rein. A dozen 
yards beyond he glanced back over his shoulder and 
there was unmistakable alarm on his face. 

The Pickle laughed. “ Bet you a dollar, fellows, 
he thinks we’re Germans! Guess he never saw an 
American gob before in his life. If you had turned 
your back, Pete, he might have stopped.” 

“ If I looked as much like a Hun as you do,” re- 
plied Pete, “ I’d drown myself. Come on an’ let’s 
get this over. I never could go parsnips before, 
Pickle, but these friends o’ yours won’t have half 
-enough for me to-night ! ” 

They found the branching road and, following 
directions, let it severely alone. There was a pros- 
perous looking farm house a quarter of a mile back 
from the junction of the ways, approached by a long, 
narrow lane between head-high hedges. Dave was 
for going there and negotiating for refreshments, 
but, as The Pickle pointed out, it was just so much 
farther to walk. A dog barked at them from half- 
way up the lane, and insects — crickets, Dave said 
they were — were busy along the roadside. And 
once a far-off locomotive whistled shrilly. For 
304 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 

the rest, it was a strangely, almost oppressively 
quiet world they traveled. At last they reached 
the bridge, which was a small affair of stone and 
timbers over what looked like a fair-sized brook. 
The Pickle, however, remembered that the Wylies 
had frequently spoken of the River Grad and he 
guessed this was it. 

“ River, eh ? ” scoffed Pete. “ Then you wait a 
minute.” 

“Where are you going?” Dave asked. 

" Goin’ to jump it,” was the reply as Pete clam- 
bered down a bank. “ First time I ever found a 
river I could jump across.” 

They dissuaded him from the attempt, pointing 
out that he couldn’t possibly do it in less than two 
and that the first jump would leave him awfully wet. 
A little further on — they were traversing an ex- 
panse of rolling country interspersed with copse and 
hedge-lined lanes that seemed to Dave typically Eng- 
lish — the road branched. There was a signpost 
there, but the words were almost obliterated and the 
early twilight was scant aid to vision. While they 
hesitated a boy of perhaps fourteen appeared myste- 
riously through a hedge and stopped stock-still to 
regard them with amazement and curiosity. 

305 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


“ Hello, sonny,” said The Pickle. “ Where do 
the Wylies live? ” 

The youth shook himself from his trance with an 
effort and said “ Eh ? ” 

The Pickle repeated the question and the boy 
shook his head. 

“ Come on, kid ! Have a heart ! ” said Pete. 
“ Don’t you live around here ? ” 

“Ay, over there.” He pointed indefinitely to- 
ward the hedge. 

“ Then you must know the Wylies’ place? ” 

“ Ay.” He seemed a most laconic youth. 

“Fine! Where is it, then?” 

“ ’Tis on this road, sir. ’E can’t miss it. It be 
a largeish house.” 

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” asked The 
Pickle. 

“ ’E asked me where they live.” 

“ Sure. They live in the house, don’t they ? 
Why couldn’t you say so ? ” 

The boy only stared, however. Possibly, they 
thought, the logic was too much for him, but later 
they recalled his silence with better understanding 
After they had progressed some fifty yards along the 
indicated road Dave glanced back. The boy was 
3°6 


THE START OF AN ADVENTURE 


following them at a distance. Finding himself ob- 
served, however, he slipped from sight. “ He, too/ 5 
thought Dave, “ believes we’re Germans ! ” 

Ten minutes more brought them to the “ large- 
ish ” house. It stood well back from the road, a 
stone residence that thoroughly deserved the boy’s 
description. Although only two stories in height, it 
covered much ground. It was a most attractive 
looking house, or would have been save for a certain 
aspect that brought a perplexed frown to The 
Pickle’s heated brow. They gazed at it in silence 
for a moment across the top of a low, well-trimmed 
hedge. Then Pete said: 

“ It don’t look quite right to me, Pickle. . It looks 
— looks — ” 

“ Nobody home,” murmured Dave. 

“ By jove, it looks like it,” muttered The Pickle 
uneasily. “ What a sell if it’s so ! ” 

Pete viewed him disgustedly. “ What about 
those parsnips ? ” he demanded. 

“ Well, let’s find out,” suggested Dave. “ No 
use spending the night here.” 

They set their feet on a graveled drive and passed 
between clumps of shrubbery toward the entrance. 
No light showed, although it was now dark enough 
307 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


to demand lights indoors, and there was something 
very inhospitable about the tightly-closed portal 
ahead. The Pickle mounted four wide stone steps 
and laid hold of an old-fashioned bell-pull. Some- 
where distantly and faintly, a bell tinkled. They 
waited. The Pickle rang again. After that he 
knocked. And still later they made a circuit of the 
house and demanded admittance at two other doors 
with no better success. Then, standing on a moss- 
grown brick walk at one end of the house, they 
viewed its many darkened windows and its chimney- 
pots clustering against the twilight sky in despondent 
silence until Pete, with a world of sarcasm in his 
voice, observed briefly: 

“ Parsnips! Huh!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE AIR RAIDERS 

Half an hour later they were tramping back again 
through the long English twilight, just able to make 
out the road ahead. They had sat despondently 
for a while on the stone steps of the deserted house 
and rested, a somewhat silent trio, while the daylight 
faded slowly and the coolness of evening settled 
over them. At last The Pickle had looked into a 
leather pocketbook and selected a small piece of 
cardboard bearing the inscription, “ Mr. Robert 
Dunham Dill.” Borrowing a pencil from Dave, he 
had added the names of his companions to his and 
then, with a ceremonious bow, slipped the card be- 
neath the front door. Pete had watched the pro- 
ceeding ironically, and when The Pickle had re- 
marked: “At least they’ll know we called,” he 
observed : “ Huh ! I know a better way to show 

’em : Bust a window ! ” 

Their plan was to find that farmhouse they had 
seen, or, failing that, some other house, and get 
309 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


something to eat. Their luncheon had been scanty 
and they were terrifically hungry. Whether the 
farmhouse was this side or beyond the bridge no 
one was certain. Dave said beyond, The Pickle 
said this side and Pete refused to commit himself. 
The darkness increased slowly, but by the time they 
had been walking a quarter of an hour night was 
fully on them. Dave said there ought to be a moon, 
but there wasn’t, and meanwhile the low-lying mist 
increased the blackness of a cloudy, Starless night. 
They stumbled on, keeping to the road by instinct 
rather than sight. The bridge and the river that 
Peter had wanted to jump were a long time in com- 
ing, and they had begun to trouble about the fact 
when they heard the gurgle of water ahead. They 
crossed the bridge and had gone some distance be- 
yond when The Pickle observed worriedly: 

“ Does this road seem right to you fellows ? ” 

“ Yeah, why not?” asked Pete. 

“ Well, somehow it doesn’t seem to be going in 
the right direction. And it seems rougher than 
when we came the other way.” 

“ Now that you mention it,” said Dave, “ it does 
seem rougher. And narrower, too. I was almost 
in a ditch a minute ago.” 

310 


THE AIR RAIDERS 


“ There wasn’t but one road,” Pete reassured 
them, “ so this must be it. It’s a punk old road, 
but I guess it’s the right one.” 

“ There were some lanes,” said The Pickle doubt- 
fully. “ We might have got shunted off into one 
of them. Wait a minute, fellows. Let’s see what 
it looks like.” The Pickle lighted a match and tried 
to view the surroundings by its weak radiance, but 
the result was disappointing, and Pete impatiently 
bade him come on. 

“ Let’s find that farmhouse an’ get some chow,” 
he said. “ You chaps may look at scenery if you 
like, but I’m just about starved to death.” 

“ Folks in dear old rural England go to bed a bit 
early, I fancy,” said The Pickle presently, “ and 
maybe the lights’ll be out and we won’t be able to 
see it.” 

“ Bet you I’ll be able to smell it! ” answered Pete. 
“If there’s food within a mile I’ll know it.” 

A minute or two later Dave said : “ Hark, fel- 

lows ! What’s that noi,se ? ” They stopped and 
listened. Then : “ Sounds like waves ! ” exclaimed 

The Pickle. “ Great Scott, we must be miles out of 
our way ! We’re going toward the coast ! ” 

Followed a dismal silence. Then Pete remarked 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

with forced cheerfulness : “ Fine ! You can al- 

ways find something to eat along the shore.” 

“ Pete,” said Dave earnestly, “ if you spring that 
old one about the ‘ sandwiches there ’ I’ll kill you.” 

“ Wasn’t going to. I was thinking of clams.” 

“ What do you say ? ” asked The Pickle, dub- 
iously. “ Shall we go back or go ahead ? ” 

“ Ahead,” said Pete. " We’ll light a bonfire and 
maybe a boat’ll come and rescue us.” 

“ I think we might as well go on,” agreed Dave. 
“ There’s likely to be a village along the shore, don’t 
you think ? ” 

“ I used to think that you found a village every 
half mile in England,” replied The Pickle sadly, 
“ but we seem to have stumbled on the one part of 
the country where nobody lives.” 

“ Maybe it’s malarial,” suggested Pete. “ I ain’t 
found any mosquitoes, though. Oh, come ahead, 
fellows. I’m getting used to it now. I’m begin- 
ning to enjoy it. I could walk forever.” 

“ You’re getting light-headed for want of food,” 
said Dave, as they went on. “ And speaking of 
food, I’d give anything for a drink of water.” 

“ So would I,” said The Pickle. " If you hear 
anything like a brook sing out.” 

312 


THE AIR RAIDERS 


But all they heard was the subdued sound of the 
waves. They were climbing a hill now and it lasted 
for a long time. They stopped to recover their 
breath and then went on again, and suddenly the 
beat and swish of the waves was louder and lights 
twinkled in the blackness and a rush of cooler air 
from the Channel smote them. They seemed to be 
on top of a hill, with the ocean a scant distance be- 
low. As they paused to peer into the darkness and 
speculate on the twinkling lights the moon peered 
for a moment from behind a cloud bank eastward 
and the scene was revealed. 

Before them the road went winding abruptly 
down to a curving beach, two or three hundred yards 
distant. On either side stretched rolling moorland. 
The lights were from beacons or ships, all very far 
away across the water. To the right a lighthouse 
shot intermittent white beams athwart the sea. 
Then the moon slipped behind a cloud and they 
were again plunged in darkness. 

" Well, I don’t know where we are,” said Pete, 
philosophically, “ but I’m glad we’re here. See that 
reddish light over there? Well, that’s an all-night 
lunch, fellows, an’ I’m goin’ over to it.” 

The Pickle seated himself on the ground and 

3U 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


stretched tired limbs. The others followed the ex- 
ample and for a minute they were silent. The 
waves boomed up from the beach and the fresh 
wind from the Channel blew in their faces. Fin- 
ally Dave said: “Now what? We don’t want 
to stay here all night, I suppose.” 

“ I’m going down to dig me some clams,” said 
Pete. But he didn’t move. The Pickle sighed and 
laid himself flat on the turf beside the road. 
“ Good night,” he murmured. Dave sat and 
watched the twinkling lights. Silence fell again. 
Presently he peered at the dial of his wrist watch. 
The hour was well after nine. Something sus- 
piciously like a snore came from the darkness where 
The Pickle reposed. Dave’s head nodded. . . . 

Perhaps he slept for a moment, perhaps for many 
minutes. He didn’t know. He awoke with the 
sound of a gun in his ears and felt the earth tremble 
slightly beneath him. Eastward a long shaft of in> 
tensely white light bored into the heavens from some 
distant headland. Again the gun boomed. That, 
too, was to the east, perhaps three miles away. Per- 
plexedly Dave’s gaze followed the broadening shaft 
of light, and the next instant the searchlight focused 
itself on the dim shape of an airplane high up in the 
3H 


THE AIR RAIDERS 


heavens. Then a second shadowy shape passed into 
its field of radiance, and a third. The shaft of tight 
moved jerkily, back and forth across the night sky, 
at every jump revealing a tiny winged form against 
the clouds. The gun was firing hysterically now at 
intervals of a few seconds, or possibly a second gun 
had joined in. From the blackness behind Dave 
came The Pickle’s voice: 

“ An air raid,” it said. “ And coming this way, 
fellows. They’re not more than a couple of miles 
off, I guess.” 

“ Any one seen a cellar around here ? ” asked 
Pete. “Say, those aren’t Zeppelins, are they?” 

“ No, bombing planes. I’d say,” replied The 
Pickle. “ Look at the searchlights behind us, fel- 
lows.” 

Toward the interior shafts of light were spring- 
ing up from the earth, sweeping inquiringly hither 
and thither, waving, crossing in a wonderful dis- 
play. The radiance shed a pale glow over the 
world, a glow that pulsed, waxing and waning as 
the light beams swung questioningly about. The 
raiders were almost overhead now, or so it seemed, 
and the watchers could see the shells from the anti- 
aircraft guns bursting below them. The humming 
315 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


of the motors became faintly audible. The first 
searchlight had settled fairly on one plane and clung 
to it inexorably as it passed above the shore line. 
Under the white glare the plane looked like a yel- 
low-gray dragon-fly in the far heights. That the 
shells were reaching the enemy seemed doubtful, 
for the latter flew straight on Londonward, perhaps 
nine in all. Inland, other guns joined the stabbing 
chorus and soon the firing from the coast toward 
the east ended. The humming whirr of the engines 
died away and the nearest searchlight swung slowly 
across the heavens, swept back and forth watchfully 
toward the south for a minute and went out. 
Northward the distant guns drummed incessantly, 
but gradually silence returned to the hill where the 
boys stood. They could no longer make out the 
faint specks speeding toward the great city, and the 
distant searchlights, following the foe, withdrew 
their radiance from the coast. Pete drew a long 
breath. 

“ Gee, I wouldn’t have missed that for anything 1 ” 
he murmured. “ It was wonderful ! ” 

“ Do you think they’ll get as far as London ?” 
asked Dave. 

“ I wouldn’t think so, judging from the reception 
316 


THE AIR RAIDERS 


they’re getting,” answered The Pickle dryly. 
“ More than likely they’ll be coming back pretty 
soon, but I guess they’ll choose another course. 
How many — ” 

He ceased abruptly and wheeled in the darkness. 
Then, simultaneously with his companions, he threw 
himself to the ground as, out of the gloom of the 
night, something vast shot close overhead. They 
felt the silent rush of it, the wind of its flight on 
their faces. It was like some huge bird skimming 
close to earth. They saw it, but only as one sees 
uncertainly a darker object in the dark, and then it 
was gone. But from some distance away came a 
crackling of bushes where the moorland rolled west- 
ward from the road and with it a sharp snap as of 
breaking wood. 

Dave found his fingers clutching The Pickle's 
arm. Close beside him Pete was breathing hard. 
They stood there for a long moment with straining 
eyes and ears intent. Then, faint but unmistak- 
ably, came the sound of a human voice. It spoke 
cautiously and the words didn’t reach them, but 
it told them one thing beyond the shadow of a doubt, 
and Dave’s fingers tightened on The Pickle’s arm. 

“ Germans ! ” he whispered. 

317 


CHAPTER IX 


PRISONERS OF WAR 

Kneeling beside the road there, with heads close 
together, they laid their plans. 

“ There’ll be two of them,” said The Pickle, “ and 
they’ll be armed. And we aren’t. I’d give a hun- 
dred dollars for an automatic right now, but never 
mind. What we’ve got to do is to get near enough 
to rush them before they can draw. That oughtn’t 
to be difficult, because they’ll be trying to fix the 
machine. We won’t try it yet, though. Let them 
alone for a few minutes. They’ll be suspicious and 
watchful at first because they’re probably not sure 
whether any one’s about. If nothing happens for a 
while they’ll conclude that they’re safe.” 

“ What did they land here for ? ” asked Pete in 
whispers. 

“ Had no choice, probably. Engine went wrong 
or something like that, I guess. They must have 
faben behind the others and probably volplaned the 
first chance they got after sighting land. When 
318 


PRISONERS OF WAR 


they came down they smashed something. You 
heard it. Maybe a wing. Anyway, it will keep 
them longer. Now what about weapons ? ” 

“ What do you mean, weapons ? ” asked Pete. 
“ I got mine with me, one on each arm.” 

The Pickle and Dave smiled in the darkness. 
“ All right,” agreed the former. “ That suits me. 
It would be hard to find clubs or anything, anyway. 
My idea, fellows, is to go at them from three sides, 
but first of all we’ve got to locate them. If they’re 
in bushes we’ll have our troubles, for the pesky 
things’ll crackle.” 

“ Yes, and if the moon comes out again,” mur- 
mured Dave anxiously, “ we’ll have more trouble.” 

“ I don’t think it will.” The Pickle was silent a 
moment, listening. Pete stirred uneasily. 

“ If we wait too long they may get away from 
us,” he objected. 

“ All right. Come on, then. We’d better lie 
flat when we get near them and crawl. Keep down 
now and don’t make a sound.” 

Crouching, testing each step before they made it, 
the three crept back along the road, which was 
hardly more than a rutted path thereabouts. Grad- 
ually the voices of the airmen grew plainer in the 
319 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


stillness, although they never spoke loudly. Nor 
did they waste many words. With the voices came 
the sounds accompanying the unseen task, the soft, 
harsh rub of metal against metal and, once, the 
sharp ring of a tool. The plane had probably 
landed on the edge of the road, which might have 
been dimly discernible from above, and had “ tax- 
ied ” diagonally off onto the moor for a distance 
of twenty or thirty yards, its progress doubtless im- 
peded by the low bushes. 

Having reached a position on the road opposite 
the enemy, the boys paused. At that instant a tiny 
light stabbed the darkness across the intervening 
space and while it glowed the boys made out the 
position of the plane and saw the forms of two 
leather-clad men beside the nearer of the two out- 
stretched wings. They appeared to be examining 
the damage sustained in landing and did much mut- 
tering as the little pocket flashlight was moved back 
and forth, shining through the varnished texture 
of the wing like a candle in a yellow Chinese lantern. 
The shadows of the airmen swayed black and mon- 
strous across the ground. Then the light went out. 

The boys, who had hugged the earth closely and 
with bated breath, now eased their positions and 
320 


PRISONERS OF WAR 


whispered softly again. Presently, had the two vis- 
itors from across the water been less absorbed in the 
task before them they might have heard faint sounds 
in the surrounding blackness not attributable to the 
breeze amongst the gorse. And then they might not 
have, for, after all, those sounds were loudest to 
those who caused them and might easily have gone 
unnoted by the airmen. Fortunately for the at- 
tackers the higher bushes were scattered and could 
be avoided, while the gorse was still green enough to 
bend beneath their weight without crackling. Ten 
breathless minutes passed slowly while the three 
boys, crawling like snakes, gained their positions. 
To Pete had fallen the most difficult task, that of 
circling the scene and approaching it from the 
farther side, and Dave and The Pickle were ready 
long before their illuminated watch dials told them 
that the time allowed for Pete’s detour was up. 

Followed a few seconds of suspense. 

Then from three different points of the compass 
came the patter of running feet, and the Germans 
snatched for their weapons and wheeled in alarm. 
Only their ears could aid them, for no eye could 
penetrate that darkness. To shoot at random would 
have been idle, and so, for just those few seconds 
321 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


that meant so much to the attackers the airmen hes- 
itated, and that hesitation was their undoing. With 
more time after the first warning they might have 
fled safely into the darkness, but the attack was so 
sudden, so unexpected that there was no time for 
escape. It was only when an unseen form leaped 
upon him from the night that one of the Germans 
fired. There was a flash of orange light and the 
bullet went whistling past the assailant. Then the 
German’s head jerked back as a fist caught him on 
the point of the chin and that single flash of his re- 
volver was multiplied a hundred times to his vision. 
He stumbled backward against the slanted wing of 
the airplane with a grunt, hung there an instant and 
slipped to the ground. And then Pete was on him. 

A yard or more away the other German was giv- 
ing a better account of himself, for, with Dave and 
The Pickle both engaging him, he was holding them 
off after a fashion. Dave was clinging to a hand 
that held a revolver and trying to get an arm around 
the German’s neck to pull him to earth, while The 
Pickle, fighting blindly, stumbling and tripping, was 
fearful of striking friend instead of foe. The Ger- 
man didn’t fight silently. He growled like an en- 
raged dog, and the things he said would not look 
322 


PRISONERS OF WAR 

well if set down here in English. Being in German, 
they sounded horribly enough, but conveyed no 
meaning. Finally The Pickle found his bearings 
and, ducking under the flail-like blows of their an- 
tagonist, wrapped his arms about a heavy form, 
heaved, swayed, and then went crashing to the 
ground. Confusion reigned supreme for an instant, 
for the enemy and Dave and The Pickle were badly 
mixed up, but Dave managed to roll clear, the re- 
volver at last in his possession, and The Pickle ended 
the struggle with a single blow against the temple of 
the man beneath him. 

That brought a short, sharp engagement to a 
close. Two more or less unconscious Germans lay 
inert on the ground when Pete, having discovered 
the flashlight in a pocket of one of the two, illumi- 
nated the scene. A sailor's yard-square neckerchief 
has many uses, and to-night three of them did excel- 
lent duty. With two they tied the hands of the 
captured Germans behind them and with the other 
trussed up one pair of feet. Two white handker- 
chiefs, knotted together, sufficed for the second 
pair. Then, out of breath, slightly bruised, but tri- 
umphant, they took stock of their victory. 

They had, it appeared, captured a slightly dam- 

323 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


aged Albatross bombing airplane, eight small but 
wicked-looking bombs, certain maps and papers of 
uncertain value and two perfectly good lieutenants 
of the German Flying Corps. They were perfectly 
good by reason of the fact that one was quite un- 
conscious and that both were securely tied. The one 
who was not unconscious was doing much groaning 
as the boys returned from their inspection of the 
plane, but was not yet articulate. Seating them- 
selves on the edge of the wing, the boys faced their 
next problem, which was, briefly : What next ? 

It dawned on them then that being in possession 
of an enemy airplane and in charge of two prison- 
ers of war several miles from the nearest settlement 
and with no notion in which direction that settle- 
ment lay was a trifle awkward. And it was not 
until they had discussed the problem for a good ten 
minutes that Dave remembered the maps taken from 
the prisoners. By the light of the invaluable flash- 
light they examined them and to their joy discov- 
ered one to be a very detailed map of the south- 
eastern counties, showing not only roads, railways, 
streams and towns but even detached houses and 
footpaths! The comprehensiveness of it fairly 
staggered them. By finding the Grad ford station 
324 


PRISONERS OF WAR 


and then the road they had traversed to the Wylies" 
residence they were soon able to discover their pres- 
ent whereabouts and learn that by following a 
path along the shore they could reach the town of 
Alburnham in something under three-quarters of an 
hour, since the distance, after The Pickle had trans- 
lated kilometers into miles, appeared to be just un- 
der three of the latter. And with the flashlight to 
aid there seemed no reason why the adventure should 
not be comfortably terminated in a couple of hours. 
It would not do for all three to make the trip to 
the village, and one would serve as well as two, and 
so very gravely they each produced a coin and, shak- 
ing it in a closed hand, slapped it down on a knee. 

“ Odd man goes,” said The Pickle. “ Heads ! ” 

“ Heads ! ” echoed Steve. 

“ Tails ! ” said Dave. “ Give me that torch.” 
Not quite two hours later Pete and The Pickle, 
drowsing at their post, were aroused to full wake- 
fulness by the chugging of a motor-car coming up 
the hill and the dull gleam of its lamps. Then, 
from the darkness emerged military and civil author- 
ity and Dave Garson, the former very wide-awake 
and agog with curiostiy and the latter yawning and 
dull of eye. The prisoners were placed in the car, 
325 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


the rest followed, there were many stern questions 
in English and helpless responses in German, and 
the motor shot off down the hill, bumping and sway- 
ing over the rutted road and — every last one of the 
heroes went to sleep. 

Later the car stopped and all got out in the half- 
gloom of a village street. The prisoners disap- 
peared through a doorway and a light appeared at 
a window. Then some one took Dave by the arm 
and impelled him through a second doorway. Pete 
and The Pickle stumbled sleepily behind. There 
was a dimly-lighted room with cots. Some of the 
cots were empty. A fussy little corporal in his 
shirt-sleeves kept talking and talking, and The 
Pickle, trying to unfold a gray blanket, got ensnarled 
in it and tumbled over a cot and rolled to the floor 
beyond. And Dave couldn’t untie one shoe-lacing 
and so gave it up. Some one said “ Good night, 
Yank!” Dave had every intention of answering, 
but the words got mixed up and his tongue wouldn’t 
work. 

A stout major interrupted them at breakfast the 
next morning and they had to tell their story from 
beginning to end while their tea grew cold. The 
major told them to go on with their breakfasts, but 
3 2 6 


PRISONERS OF WAR 


how could they when he kept booming questions at 
them? Afterward two photographers enticed them 
out into the early morning sunlight and posed them 
against the gray stone wall of a barracks and took 
pictures of them. There was much praise for the 
boys, and the major in command presented them 
each with a souvenir of the adventure, Dave and 
The Pickle drawing the revolvers and Pete the 
pocket flashlight. At nine they were rolled off to a 
railway station in a motor ambulance driven by a 
young woman in khaki uniform, who got them to 
write their names in a little book she kept under the 
leather cushion of the seat. She explained that she 
tried to get the autographs of all distinguished per- 
sons she met, and was proudly exhibiting the sig- 
nature of Lloyd George when the train came in 
and they had to hurry off. Pete spent much of his 
time during the first part of the journey in talking 
about that ambulance driver. 

“ When the war’s over I’m goin’ back there,” he 
said dreamily. “ She was some kid, take it from 
Pete.” 


CHAPTER X 


“stand by!” 

Two days later the Conklin was steaming at 
twenty knots through the shallow waters of the 
North Sea. It’s a vile stretch of ocean in the best 
of weather, and the best of weather did not fall to 
their lot. The short, sharp waves drenched the 
decks, and the destroyer rolled and staggered and 
shook. Life that day was, in The Pickle’s phrase- 
ology, “ nothing to write home about.” Drenched 
with icy spray, choked with the fumes of the black 
oil smoke that hugged the deck, wrapped in mist, 
the lookouts were a cold and unhappy lot. No, not 
unhappy, though, for big events impended and spir- 
its were high. 

Ahead and behind eight other destroyer craft 
were keeping the Conklin company. Four Ameri- 
can and five British ships comprised the little flotilla 
that, hidden from each other by the wet and dreary 
mist, were speeding eastward toward the enemy’s 
stronghold. “ Heligoland ” was the word on every 
328 


“ STAND BY!” 


lip that morning, for, although the bulletin told them 
nothing, their destination was no secret. They were 
off for a raid ! 

Of late German destroyers and submarines had 
been far too active against allied and neutral ship- 
ping in the North Sea, and the enemy must be taught 
a lesson. And for the teaching nine of the fastest 
and most powerful destroyers had been picked from 
the two navies and had rendezvoused the day before 
off The Helder. And now, lithe grayhounds of 
the sea, they were darting eastward for their prey. 

Heligoland, that grim ocean fortress that stands 
thirty miles off the German coast, is to-day a verit- 
able Gibraltar. Fortified at a cost of $50,000,000, 
it bristles with eleven-inch guns and forms an im- 
pregnable defense to the German bases behind it, 
and provides on its southward side a safe harbor 
for ships. In clear weather it must be given a wide 
berth by the enemy, but when the North Sea fogs 
close down about it, even its sharp eyes — giant 
searchlights that range for miles out to sea from 
the summit of the great cliffs — are powerless. 
And hidden by mist a destroyer may, if she chooses 
to dare the mines and nets that surround the rock, 
creep close under the guns without detection. 

329 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


It was still early morning when the attacking 
ships reached the edge of the protected area and 
abandoned formation, for it is in the early hours of 
the day that the gray mists are thickest. The plan 
of the raid had been prepared beforehand, and now 
every unit knew its duty. The Conklin's nose swung 
more to the north, in the direction of the Bight, that 
twenty-mile channel leading northward from the 
mouth of the River Elbe. Once a gray phantom 
hung on her starboard for a minute and then was 
dissolved in the all-encompassing mist. Lookouts 
strained their eyes as never before, their life-belts 
strapped about them. The engines roared and the 
seas dashed over the bows, making the decks a wel- 
ter of water. Every gun crew was at its station; 
had been there for an hour, ever since the order of 
“ Stand by ! ” had come in the chill darkness of early 
dawn. 

Eastward a distant gun boomed and was followed 
by a second. One of the raiders had come in con- 
tact with the enemy. But from the Conklin not so 
much as a flash was to be seen. The firing grew 
continuous, a steady roar of sound. The Conklin 
was going more slowly now, for mines lay about 
her and the narrow channel she must keep to was 
330 


“ STAND BY! ” 


winding and uncertain. A half hour passed. The 
firing in the distance diminished. Then a heavier 
gun spoke, this time more to the north and nearer. 
The foretop lookout saw the rosy flare of it a few 
miles distant. Smaller, sharper guns barked in an- 
swer and a new engagement began. But the mys- 
terious fog hid it as it hid aught else from the strain- 
ing eyes on bridge and deck of the Conklin. 

At the guns men murmured impatience. Were 
they to be the only ones without a bid for glory? 
What was the Old Man up to? Why didn’t he 
plunge across there and get a finger in the pie before 
it was all gone ? But the Old Man was paying scant 
heed to the fortunes of the consorts. His eyes 
were glued to a chart and his lips never moved save 
to issue orders to the helmsman. Slowly but inex- 
orably the destroyer crept on and on through the 
mist, her sharp nose twitching this way and that as 
the steering cables groaned under deck and the rud- 
der moved from side to side. Eight knots now, 
and scarcely seeming to have headway in the tum- 
bling, leaping seas. From a bow lookout came a 
warning cry : 

“ Mine close aport ! ” 

The Conklin's nose twitched to starboard and the 
33i 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


lookout’s hair stirred under his woolen cap as the 
floating engine of destruction was cleared by a few 
scant yards. Once more a similar warning came, 
and again the destroyer swerved aside just in the 
nick of time. A spotter amidships on the starboard 
side swore afterwards that the mine scraped the 
Conklin's plates! 

Then telegraphs became busy and the destroyer 
leaped forward again through sea and fog. Fifteen 
knots! Twenty! Twenty-six! A darker shape 
emerged from the grayness ahead and to port. The 
Conklin No. 3 gun broke the long silence. Some- 
where a warning siren screamed eerily. Then a 
flare of rose-pink gleamed to port and, as the 
Conklin's guns awoke, a shell screamed overhead. 
They knew then where they were, and every heart 
leaped with the thrill of that knowledge. They had 
crept through the mine field, and now they were 
plunging straight for the anchored ships in the wide- 
mouthed harbor, straight under the giant guns of 
Heligoland ! 

It was suicide, and they all knew it, from the Old 
Man on the bridge to the last oiler far below the 
wet, fog-draped deck, and every man of them gloried 
in it ! Rushing on, firing until the gray shape was 
332 


“STAND BY!” 


lost in fog, the destroyer kept her course. Other 
shapes emerged now, ahead to starboard, aport — 
shapes small and shapes gigantic, vanishing at the 
vagaries of the mist, suddenly looming again. 
Every gun fired at sight of a target. The water 
dashed over the stern as a shell plunged into the 
waves. Here and there glares of quick, vivid light 
broke the gray wall. The Conklin went on and 
past, hurling her shells incessantly. Suddenly, 
ahead, a big gun spoke from the cliffs. And then 
another. The sounds dwarfed all other sounds. 
The Conklin whirled in a confusion of churning 
water and headed seaward again. Fair in her path 
lay the grim mystery of a huge cruiser, her funnels 
and masts high above the diminutive enemy. 
Straight on went the Conklin — a wasp attacking a 
bulldog! The cruiser’s small guns beat a tattoo 
against the Conklin's deck and hull. A great shell 
from the shore batteries howled past. The de- 
stroyer, every funnel spouting smoke, raced past 
the cruiser so close that the dim lights behind open 
ports showed to the gun crews and they aimed for 
them. Roaring, firing, cheering, the Conklin blazed 
her way by. At the guns men worked in a sweating 
frenzy, shouting grimly when a shell went home, 
333 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 


laughing as grimly when the enemy got home on 
them. Then they were past, and astern a fearful 
rending of steel and timber shook the air and a 
wild uprush of flame and flying debris was visible 
for an instant. And then the gray gloom closed in 
again, hiding the tragedy ! 

“ Lyddite explosion/’ said the Old Man, briefly. 

“ One cruiser less in the Kaiser’s navy,” exulted 
the junior. 

Below deck, men groaning from wounds heard 
and forgot their pain. At the guns they cheered 
wildly. They were handling ammunition now in 
the dark, for the lighting circuit had been broken. 
But the shells still came up and the guns still barked 
— all save No. 4, which would never speak again. 
Shot-riddled, one funnel gone, badly gashed for- 
ward above the water line, and dented in fifty places, 
the Conklin rushed on into a new danger. As the 
anchored ships dropped astern a torpedo sped across 
the destroyer’s bow. The submarines were in the 
game at last ! Zig-zagging from side to side, doubt- 
ful of the channel, the Conklin raced ahead with 
every boiler roaring. Behind them the big guns 
boomed, dropping shells into that narrow path 
through which they must steer. Grimly firing from 
334 


“ STAND BY! 


the stern at the fleeting, shadowy shape of an enemy 
destroyer, the Conklin sought escape. Behind her 
a great gray battle cruiser was slowly settling be- 
neath the waves and many an enemy ship was nurs- 
ing her wounds, and only a miracle, it seemed, could 
deliver the Conklin from the enemy's vengeance. 

And yet the moments passed, and the great shells 
that went moaning into the sea failed of their mis- 
sion. If torpedoes were launched from the skulking 
U-boats they, too, missed their target. Once, close 
aboard, an upheaval of the sea and a dull concus- 
sion showed where an anchored mine had been ex- 
ploded, perhaps by torpedo, perhaps by shell. The 
Conklin held her life in her hands now. Around 
her lay unseen death, behind her coursed destroyers 
and submarines. But it was as the God of Battles 
willed it, and the gallant little ship, never slowing 
her engines, plunged fearlessly forward, turning 
and twisting. Sweaty, smoke-grimed lookouts 
peered from the bows and shouted hoarse warn- 
ings. On the battered bridge the officers stood 
tensely and waited. And then, somehow, she was 
through the mines and past the nets and the gray 
mist was beckoning her to its arms. Back, where 
the great grim fortress towered above the sea, the 
335 


UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN 

guns boomed and growled with diminishing fury. 
And, maimed and scarred, with a toll of dead and 
dying below the long, drenched deck, the Conklin 
sped proudly westward, the Yankee ensign still 
fluttering in triumph from the masthead. 

HI 


THE END 


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